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lordprettyflackotara · 26 days

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Till Dawn || Eyeless Jack || part two

SMUT 18+, tw: unrealistic demon sex (sorry not sorry, MASSIVE breeding kink, mentions of eating organs (duh, it’s ej), some blood but nothing too crazy, size kink, all the things you’d expect from a fic with ej tbh

part three is here

EJ avoided you like you had the black plague.

It’s not because he wanted to, not by any means.

In a perfect world he would be tangled in your bed sheets right now, not standing in his bedroom at the mansion.

One hand was keeping him steady from falling over, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. His breathing was jagged, from trying to ignore what he knew to be happening.

He tried to avoid the overwhelming feeling, the craving.

Because EJ knew without a shade of a doubt, he was in heat.

EJ’s heats came once a year, right around the beginning of summer. The first time it happened he thought he might explode, his urges almost landing him with a knife in his hand.

(Note to self: don’t try to fuck Jane).

The second summer he as more adjusted, the third even more so. He had grown accustomed of what was going to happen, to the extent where the members of mansion set up precautions for him.

Typically he would stock up on food, then lock himself into his medical lab as if he were a rabid dog.

The slightest movement or sound could make him go feral, the demon unable to control himself.

Every year this had worked, his heat dying down after about maybe a month.

But this year, was different. All because of you.

In previous years he had never had a mate, nor had he truly considered getting one. He thought humans to be too fragile. Not to mention the fact he didn’t know if it was scientifically possible to procreate with one. Which was exactly what his body was screaming at him to do.

You invaded every inch of his mind, his heat refusing to subside for even five minutes to allow him some peace.

EJ knew that if he were to allow himself to enter your town, it would be game over.

That he would be buried inside of you in mere minutes, not caring where you were. If everyone had to see him mate with you, so fucking be it. Logically, however, EJ knew these thoughts were absurd and insane. If he was going to ever see you again, he could not allow himself to see you during his heat.

Yet, he knew where you lived. He knew your schedule like the back of his hand. When you’d be at work, when you’d be at the gym, when you’d be home. In bed. Curled up into an adorable, fuckable ball. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

A knock on the laboratory door snapped him out of his thoughts, the demon trudging towards the door. He unlocked it, staring down at his fellow resident, Jeff the killer. “Hey fuckface, Ben told me you were running low on food. Consider this a favor,” He said dryly. He held up a brown paper bag, oozing with blood and other unidentified bodily liquids. With one sniff EJ knew that inside of the bag was a heart. Not his favorite, but it’d do.

EJ lifted his arm slowly to grab it from him, muttering a thank you. He acted as if he were afraid to hurt Jeff, unsure of what he would do if the two interacted any way out of the ordinary. “Fuck dude, you don’t look good,” Jeff commented. Jacks hand flew to his face, realizing his mask had been discarded during one of his meltdowns. Out of instinct Jack bared his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His pale roommate raised his hands, signaling he didn’t mean harm.

“Not trying to get your panties in a wad, you just look worse for some reason this year,” Jeff explained. Truthfully his dark gray skin did look paler, his hair ruffled and sticking to his forehead from sweat. The last person on the face of this planet Jack wanted to admitted this to stood right in front of him. “There’s a girl,” Jack managed to huff out, his voice several octaves deeper then normal.

Jeff’s permanent smile curled even further upwards, producing a genuine one. “Well i’ll be damned, my Jacky boy has finally found a woman. Did you lose your v card yet?” Jeff asked. EJ would’ve rolled his eyes if he had them.

“Jeff.”

“Okay okay alright, well you’re in heat right? Why don’t you go see her?” The pale killer questioned. Millions of scenarios ran through EJ’s head, almost all of them ending with your organs in his hands. It wasn’t just breaking you that he was afraid of, but it was the unavoidable hunger that washed over him after fulfilling his filthy desires. “Human,” EJ managed to choke out, his mouth running dry. The word was something that his fellow residents cringed at, Jeff’s eyes going wide.

“Demon boy is entangled with a human? I must be in the twilight zone,” Jeff muttered. Out of all of the residents in the mansion, Jack was the most likely to break a humans bone by mistake. His strength was incomprehensible, EJ unaware of how harsh his touch could be. Jeff eyed his roommate carefully, evaluating his condition. He usually didn’t care to get involved in Jacks life, the demon preferring to live solo.

Yet, it was disheartening even for him to see EJ like this.

“Look there’s no point in wallowing in misery. There’s no guarantee you’d kill her,” Jeff said. His attempt to comfort EJ was poor, one that made Jack furrow his eyebrows. “Your heat is going to be fucking miserable if you don’t at least try dude, don’t be a pussy,” He stated bluntly. EJ furrowed his eyebrows, before nodding. He had to know. Could he control himself? Would you have him?

He could do it. He could find the will to focus on the lust and not the hunger. He could do it. For you.

EJ huffed in response, grabbing his shirt from a nearby dresser. Jeff put a hand up, stopping the demon in his tracks.

“Dude, take a shower.”

Jack couldn’t get to you fast enough. He took several shortcuts to your house, even venturing as far as to run across several popular roads. He had to see you, to feel you. His body was engulfed in open flames, yours being the only way tame the fire. By the time he got to your house he was out of breath, unsure of how to approach you.

Faintly he could hear your heartbeat, the noise alone making him swallow. He had eaten the gift Jeff had given him before he left, ensuring to scrub every last bit of his mouth with a toothbrush once he was done. But the hunger that haunted EJ needed more than just an organ to be satisfied. Questions circled his mind, unsure of how to approach you. Should he knock on the door? Break in?

His gaze landed on the tree he had previously climbed, the large branch still conveniently in front of your window. Jack decided on the old fashioned way, climbing up the old oak tree. He got an odd sense of deja vu, warmth spreading through out his body at the sight of you. You were in bed, reading a book beside your nightstand lamp. You looked so peaceful, your attention completely engulfed.

EJ considered leaving, letting you continue your peaceful human life. That was, until he realized you were wearing his hoodie. Your legs were curled to the side, your chest concealed by the familiar cotton EJ wore everyday. Maybe it was for comfort? No, you missed him. You needed him. Maybe as badly as he needed you. It was in that moment he decided to be selfish, knocking on the glass.

Your eyes darted up, brightening at the sight of the demon crouching in front of your window. You tossed your book aside, running over to let him in. Your legs were bare, your soft skin exposed to him. There you stood, completely exposed to a six foot demon. And you dared to smile.

“Jack?”

EJ struggled to form any words, slipping into your room. He knew his presence alone was incredibly selfish. You were so small, his body towering over you without even trying. Your eyebrows furrowed, your head tilting to the side. “Jack? Are you okay?” You asked, your voice sounding so small. So soft. EJ couldn’t barely find it in himself to look at you, afraid of the urges that soared through his body.

“I’m in heat,” He managed to say, his voice sounding strained. You hesitantly grabbed his hand, guiding him to the bed. EJ sat down on the edge, purposefully holding his gaze to the floor. You sat down beside him, studying his intense posture. He was breathing deeply, veins poking out of his arms. “You’re… In heat? Like an animal?” You asked, seeking clarification. EJ nodded nervously, ashamed of the lewd confession.

It was as if he had never fucked you, with how embarrassed he felt.

“Okay so, what does that mean, um, exactly?”

Your words were so innocent.

He had to see your face.

He had to admire you.

From the moment he lifted his head, he was on you. In a swift motion he had pinned you to the bed, hovering over you. You smelled so fucking good, it was practically intoxicating. “I can’t control myself, I, I mean, I need-” EJ panted, struggling to find the words to explain his situation. He hadn’t needed to explain his heats to anyone in years, nevertheless a human girl. “You need to fuck something, right? And to cum?” You questioned.

Jack swallowed hard, your legs on either side of his waist. He could practically feel your core throbbing for him, his shaft growing harder in his pants. The sensation made him let out a low growl, before trying to swallow the sounds back down his throat. You had the gist of it, but he didn’t think you truly understood the danger you were in.

“I need to breed,” Jack stated, emphasizing the last word. Your small fingers curled under his mask, lifting it and tossing it aside. Your fingertips traced his jawline, the simple affection making his heart begin to race.

“So breed me then.”

Your words had sealed your fate.

His mouth was on your lips before you could process it, the tension growing hot and heavy within seconds. Jacks large hands trailed up your body, shoving your hoodie over your head. Your bare chest was exposed to him, your nipples hardening exposed to the cool night air. “No bra? You filthy bitch,” EJ grumbled. His lips strayed from yours, his body desperate for release. He tried to remember to be careful with you, to take the time to stretch you out.

He barely fit the first time, nevertheless if he didn’t take the time to do some foreplay. EJ didn’t want to hurt you, even if it meant putting himself through agony. His lips strayed to your neck, sucking harshly at the skin. He had to make a conscious effort to not bite, his teeth grazing your skin ever so slightly. He ensured to avoid any crucial arteries, just in case he cut skin. You whined under him, the smell of your arousal filling his nostrils. But as Jack inhaled, he smelled something else familiar.

“J-Jack?” You whispered, the warm feeling of blood trickling down your neck alerting you. Jack leaned back, taking in the damage. It was a thin line of blood, the crimson red paint staining your soft skin. He swallowed as he leaned back, panting. “No we can’t do this, i’m going to lose control,” He said, speaking a full sentence for the first time in weeks. Jack backed away from you, panting as his boner continued to rage on.

The smell of your arousal, fear, and blood, was enough to make EJ hump a pillow to get off. He put his hand over his face, covering his nose. “What? Jack i’m fine,” You argued. The demon shook his head no, trying to restrain himself. The blood dripped down your neck onto your collarbone, the sight alone mouthwatering. He pressed his back flat against the wall, shaking his head no. You didn’t have any idea how badly he wanted you. The fact that you didn’t only made the situation more dangerous. You placed your hand over your small cut, the wound evident that EJ wasn’t careful enough with you.

“I can handle it, just-” You began. You struggled to find the right words, to convince him to take you. To breed you right there and then. “Just clean it,” You say, unsure if you even said the right thing. EJ’s eyebrows raised curiously, his prey asking him to clean her wound. “Are you sure?” Jack said, his words almost entirely muffled by his hand. You yanked away his wrist, forcing him to fully inhale the overwhelming scent of your blood.

“What did you say?”

Jack licked his lips, tilting his head to the side.

“I said, are you sure?”

You removed your blood stained hand from your wound, nodding.

“I can take it, whatever you give me.”

Fuck.

In the blink of an eye EJ flipped positions, your back being shoved against the wall behind you. His three tongues emerging from his lips. They assaulted your neck, lapping at the wound. He refused to let any drop of your precious blood go to waste. Once he was done cleaning your neck his focus shifted to your hand, licking your palm clean.

“I forgot you had three tongues,” You admitted. Your words reminded EJ of what was happening. That you weren’t a meal, but his mate. Jack allowed himself to smile, chuckling. “Yeah? Do you remember what they feel like?” He asked curiously. Playing along, you shrugged. “I don’t think so, maybe you’ll just have to remind me,” You replied.

Jack had never sank to his knees quicker.

He ripped your panties in half, discarding the fabric across the room. He nudged your knees apart, forcing you to lean against the wall for support. You were practically dripping, the sight only fueling Jacks heat even more. “It’s taking everything in me to take my time with you, little human,” Jack panted. He brought himself to your cunt, his three tongues finally making a grand appearance. Two of them decided to enter you, your walls spasming under the odd sensation. The third stayed focused on your clit, flicking your sensitive bud as if his life depended on it.

EJ’s hand held your legs harshly. As your legs began to tremble, you slowly began to lose your balance. He took this opportunity to pick you up, holding your legs in his arms as his tongues abused your cunt. Your hands tugged at his hair as he held you in mid air, your thighs trembling in his hands. Each tug you pulled only made him fuck into you rougher, his tongues almost seemingly having a mind of their own. “Fuck- right there, please, right fucking there,” You pleaded, your sinful pleas bouncing throughout the hollow house.

With one final flick of your cunt you came on his tongues, each of them lapping up your juices with pride. Jack needed more, he needed something, anything, to prevent him from fucking you on the floor. “On your knees, now,” He growled as he set you down. With how wobbly your legs were you nearly fell anyways, landing on your knees on the hard wooden floor. EJ felt as hot as a heater, his skin radiating unnatural warmth. You stuck out your tongue, maintaining his gaze as he unbuckled his pants.

“You filthy filthy girl,” EJ muttered. He mockingly traced your jawline, shoving his pants and boxers down to his ankles. You had almost forgotten how large his cock was, his length alone enough to break you. “Awe, what’s wrong? Am I bigger than the human boys you play with?” Jack asked teasingly. He tapped the head of his cock against your tongue, shuddering at the warmth of your mouth.

You took his tip in stride, swirling your tongue around it as the demon before you groaned. EJ began shoving his cock into your mouth further, his tip scraping the back of your throat.

He wasn’t even in half way yet.

“You may want to loosen your jaw,” EJ recommended. How far could the human jaw physically extend? You forced your jaw to go slack, struggling to accommodate to Jacks girth as he pushed himself in further. Jack gritted his teeth out of frustration, fuck, this wasn’t fucking working.

Fuck it.

Fuck this.

His large hand snaked down to your hair, yanking you off of him. He dragged you onto your feet with ease, as if you were as light as a feather. “I changed my mind, I want you now,” Jack mumbled. He roughly brought his lips to yours, dragging you back over to the bed. The only thing he needed in the world right now were your ankles dangling over his shoulders. You were struggling to keep up, your heartbeat racing faster and faster.

The sound made Jack’s ears twitch, his desire to fuck you the only thing that kept him from tearing you apart.

“Jack?”

You stared up at him curiously, EJ realizing he was staring at you blankly.

The demon swallowed, trying to hold himself back. His body was practically vibrating, every fiber in him screaming to breed your pretty little cunt, then to swallow your organs whole. Starting with your precious heart. You didn’t know what he ate, right? Or did you? EJ began to rack his brain, his mind spinning. Were you afraid? You didn’t smell afraid. But to be fair though, all Jack could smell was your arousal.

“Jack?”

Your concern made him snap out of his haze, the realization that he was oddly panting above you hitting him like a brick. He licked his dry lips, trying to form coherent sentences. “You don’t want this, you don’t want to be my mate. You-” Jack began. He knew what it would be mean if he did what he wanted, what every fiber in his being was screaming at him to do. “Deserve a nice human life, with a human man,” He rambled.

Your next action caught him off guard, it being something he hadn’t even fantasized about. It was so shocking to Jack, that he hadn’t even theorized it to be possible. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you dragged him down to you, planting your lips onto his. As you kissed him, your small hand reached down to his throbbing cock, running the tip up and down your folds. EJ growled as he pushed you down against the mattress.

“You’ve done it now,” He snarled. EJ swatted your hand away, pumping his length. Teasingly he brushed the head of his cock against your clit, the overstimulation making you squirm. Jack tried his hardest to be slow once he entered you. Honest. But your walls sucked him in your body screaming that you were almost as desperate as he was. This. This was what he had imaged all of those sleepless nights as he pumped his cock, daydreaming of the disgusting things he’d do to you.

And here you were, withering under him as he shoved his cock inside of your cunt. “Such a good whore for me, such a good hole for me to use,” EJ grunted. He could feel his mind going numb, his ability to maintain composure fading away as he bottomed out. He could feel your walls squeezing him, begging him to let you adjust. His cock was visible through your stomach, the outline only fueling the fire further.

“So sorry, I can’t hold back any longer- Have to- Need to breed you,” Jack panted, moving his hips. You bit your bottom lip as he began to fuck you, the pain almost too much. You had taken him before, sure, but he wasn’t this rough with you. He let out low growls as he fucked you, the pain slowly subsiding into pleasure. Jack couldn’t help but nuzzle himself into the side of your neck, inhaling your scent.

Your hands had grabbed his hair, tugging at it as he mercilessly pounded into you. Your moans were mixtures of pleas and incoherent babbles, his name mixed in there somewhere. You couldn’t think straight, Jacks hips having a mind of their own. “Fuck, i’m gonna breed you, you’re going to be mine,” Jack huffed. He licked the side of your neck, the sweat coating your skin flooding his tastebuds.

He could hear your heartbeat speed up even faster, your body struggling to keep up with Jack as he fucked you. “You’re gonna be my mate, you understand? My personal cumdump,” He snarled. The degrading words were the most he had spoken in weeks, his mind screaming at him to cum inside of you. He needed it like he needed air. He needed to see your cunt red and puffy, leaking his cum.

EJ managed to leave the comfort of your neck, watching the outline of his cock slide in and out of you as he abused your cervix. “You’re gonna be such a good mother, gonna take you back to the mansion,” Jack groaned, his words slipping out mindlessly. He grabbed your legs, forcing them to spread wider. You whined as he grabbed your tender flesh, pounding into you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re mine, my mate to breed, you’re gonna carry my kids, over and over and over,” EJ growled. You could feel yourself getting close, your eyes practically seeing stars. “J-Jack, i’m getting close-” You warned. Jack grinned, his thrust not letting up for a second. “Go on mate, cum for me so I can mark you as mine,” EJ ordered, his words almost muffled by his animalistic growls. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, your orgasm only making Jack fuck you harder.

He grabbed your limp body, pounding into you through your orgasm until he found his own high. Loud moans exited his throat as he came inside of you, your cunt now full of the demons sperm. He panted as his heart rate began to settle, his stomach beginning to growl. His eye sockets widened as he realized he could still hear your heartbeat, the sound coming back into focus. He swallowed, your smell making his desire shift to raw hunger.

Jack pulled out of you quickly, relieved to see that you were relatively dazed. Your eyes were closed, your focus on slowing your body back down to normal. As calmly as he could he slid off of the bed, redressing himself. He knew if he alerted you he would owe you an explanation. It would put him at a dangerous crossroad. He would either have to tell the brutal truth, or a painful lie that would no doubt put your relationship in jeopardy.

EJ grabbed his mask, sliding back onto his face as he pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie. He watched his cum ooze out of your cunt and onto the sheets, the sight almost enough to overrule his painful hunger.

Almost.

Jack slipped out of your window quickly, running to the next heartbeat he could hear.

An odd satisfaction washed over him as he ran into the night, knowing you were now his.

#eyeless jack x y/n #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack x reader #jeff the killer x eyeless jack #eyeless jack x jeff the killer #eyeless jack #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta lemon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta

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umbriannaacademia · 4 days

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Translating creepypastas 100 time

Jeff the killer: Yusuf is a murderer.

Ben Drowned: are you ok

Smile Dog: Eat dog

Slenderman: little sister

Snow on Mt.Silver: Laminated paper

Sonic E.X.E: MUSIC

Lavender Town Syndrome: tulip disease

Eyeless Jack: play

Lost Silver: spend money

Goatman Story: peace

Ticci Toby: And the door

I had to translate 2 multiple times to get funnier results. And most of these are ones that I haven't read or not interested in.

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #ben drowned #smile dog #slenderman #snow on mt silver #sonic exe #lavender town #eyeless jack #lost silver #goatman #ticci toby #google translate #shitpost

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oh-saints · 1 year

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sweetest devotion (p.1)

despite being written on paper, arranged marriages don't really have a guidance entailed. and mason was trapped into navigating the direction of this huge ship alone.

playboy!mason mount x princess!OC

word count: 2.0k

tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience for this chapter

note: due to a stupid accident that costed my wrist, sorry for the long delay but here it is! i promised you next part's longer but hope you enjoy it nonetheless. as usual, i happen to write at dawn so this is not beta-read yet.

tags: @missgaygurl @pingyu-in-wonderland <3 (lemme know if you want to be added!)

sweetest devotion masterlist here <<prologue here - part 2 here>>

but face proven to be not everything needed in this holy institution called marriage.

especially not when the woman-in-question didn’t show that pretty face any where near mason throughout the second week.

mason never thought his marriage would turn out like this, though.

mainly because during the first week, mason and serena managed to stay civil—serena, for the sake of the baby; mason, for the sake of his life. because let’s be honest, there was too much at stake if they fucked up.

but truthfully, mason actually had a glimpse of what their marriage could look like, should they work together immaculately, so he didn’t think he had a point to complain. he reaped the benefits such as having his laundry taken care of—which he once admitted publicly was a total bummer when he was living alone because it’d mean he had to do it by his own self—while she was sheltered nicely and comfortably from the harsh punishment hanging on her head like a bounty.

well, at least until the mastermind behind the grand plan went missing.

no prior words, prior warning or whatsoever.

and mason was left dumbstruck. because now, what the hell was he supposed to do in this house without being reminded that he now couldn’t go out as much as he liked to? or the fact that he couldn’t pop into some upcoming hit nightclub for a relieve of his own without jeopardising both his and serena’s life?

fucking hell, he groaned before landing a well-placed punched to the sandbag he stored in his home gym. lately the poor thing was his only solace to the burning rage boiling that was threatening to combust. he’d never hated himself for what he’d done to his own life more than that precise moment.

once, someone told him that the most dangerous taste in life was the taste of freedom. and god were they right—he’d exchange everything in possession to have his premarital life and the freedom he was entitled with back in his hold. fuck what they said about his reputation of painting the town red.

“mase!” ben’s chirpy voice over the call clearly indicated he was drunk and in need of help. “you should come to the factory! she’s here!”

mason didn’t think twice to put on his usual clubbing garb at ben’s information and pulled out his Lamborghini from his driveway towards his and ben’s favourite nightclub.

and ironically, the place where it all begin for mason and serena.

but if serena was having fun at the night club, he deserved the right to ruin his steak of sombre nights. did he not?

“mason!” ben chilwell had to scream for his name to beat out the pounding music but his ears had never been more familiar at the loud voices more than now. “you’re here!”

“where’s she?”

ben’s smile grew wider at mason’s question. the left-back might not know the reason behind mason’s rash decision to get married—he initially thought the young star was only not wanting to pass up the chance to tie down a princess—but one thing that he did know was that mason mount was like a moth to the fire whenever she was involved in the scene.

“over at the bar!”

mason’s scanned the said bar, and his heart fell at the sight of her. because she wasn’t who mason was looking out for; she wasn’t serena. and all his plan getting even to serena he initially planned went evaporating into the air.

she happened to have the name of elena, the very and only woman who mason dared to describe closest as his lover, despite their constant on-and-off nature.

and ironically, the very reason mason and serena happened the first place.

if it wasn’t because of her dumping him—for the nth time—mason wouldn’t have sought the company of another woman in his bed. he wouldn’t have hunted serena, the prettiest commodity the factory had accrued that night, down on a Friday night too long ago.

elena peered over her shoulder, her eyes gave out away the hidden surprise at the sight of mason coming to the nightclub. surely, the newlywed didn’t come alone, did he?

mason was supposed to feel accustomed to this game of her. it was her signature move—giving off a glance over her shoulder, looking smoulderingly sexy as she did so.

mason knew what was coming, her selling off herself to the highest bidder. and he wasn’t supposed to fall into the jealousy trap of seeing endless men courting her anymore.

but he did, helplessly, like icarus flying too close to the sun. and before he realised it himself, mason had already circled his arms around her waist, surrendering himself to the devil in prada shoes as he lost himself to the demonic sensation of having elena’s lips on his, sloppy kisses be damned.

this was normalcy for mason.

this was what he could’ve had, and he’d never hated serena more than now for stealing this away from him.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

for the rest of the week, going back to elena’s place was all mason did. god knows doing what, but if whatever-it-was brought back the happy spirit to mason’s body and his old self, the rest of the Chelsea team didn’t question it.

only when he needed a fresh change of clothes did he come back to his home, did he realise serena was already back occupying the 1st floor of the building. he might not see her in flesh and blood, but the fresh scent of lavender told more than words could never convey.

he dashed for his bedroom, putting his pieces of clothing as much as the duffel bag let him to, before heading out again towards elena’s place. mason managed to reconcile for the good now—because elena also realised that having mason in the arms of anyone else didn’t settle with her well—so he didn’t want to waste time away from her anymore.

halfway downstairs, mason got stopped by serena’s figure at the other end of the stairs. the woman looked like she was going to catch up on mason, but as her eyes travelled to his packed bag, mason noticed she was dawning in the reality.

good, he thought inwardly. it should serve her place.

mason let another 10 seconds passed by before he continued galloping down the stairs, breezed past serena the way she left him a week ago—empty. indifferent.

like nothing.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

weeks passed and it was another weekly dose of mason fetching another pack of his clothes.

mason had certainly hired a cleaner so he could dump his dirty clothes one week and get another set of fresh clothes the next. despite his indifference towards serena, he prided himself on sparing her the smell of another woman standing in between them like the elephant in the room.

as soon as his feet graced the living room, a messy bun he wasn’t familiar at all was what came to his eyes, the hair colour so striking in the midst of mason’s all-white living room. while it wasn’t unusual, serena had never bothered crossing his way whenever he was back home to do this, as if they’d silently fallen into an inexplicable routine.

only at times like that was he grateful of marrying the right person. the princess’ pedigree certainly didn’t lie.

but still giving him her back, the owner of the highlighted scene spoke up. “you’re home.”

if serena wasn’t spurting the obvious information, mason would’ve shrunk at how eerily chilled her voice was. “you think?”

mason’s voice didn’t bother her at all—just like any other time during their short pre-wedding prep, the only time when he questioned her unwavering resolve only to be answered by “it’s just who I am.”

she just stood from her place so gracefully like a feather dancing ballet. “good, because we need to talk.”

“about what?”

“about us,” mason was seriously questioning how the hell she could spin her body into facing him with shoulders so squared she would’ve put kendall jenner to shame. “boundaries and all.”

oh, the audacity, mason scoffed. “the time of talking was a week ago, serena, which—in case you forget—was the time when you decided to disappear from the face of the earth.”

mason’s jab at her didn’t shake off her resolve, still. “where were you?”

“why do you care?”

“I care because the palace called,” mason appreciated she cut to the point because elena would be waiting for the dinner reservation he made for them. “I don’t care about you keeping a lover, mistress or whatever it is outside this house as long as you keep it under the wraps.”

shit, the palace must’ve found out somehow about him and elena. or the paparazzi did, who then contacted the palace to release the pictures. alas, mason must’ve been too reckless lately about his rendezvous. “okay.”

“and as long as you are to show up for the social gatherings the royal family may see fit,” this one, mason had to groan. who said marrying a princess was going to be a good stroke to his ego? “if it kills you so much, we can mingle for an hour tops before citing I’m not feeling well.”

“I don’t have problem with that,” the footballer crossed his arms as he bit back his response. he couldn’t possibly spew off his honest reaction at this time, not when this topic came up due to his carelessness. “I take it that includes my public appearances?”

“I’m not going to tail you to every of them if you don��t want me to,” yes, good, don’t come. “I’ll only go to where it concerns your club.”

“okay,” mason sighed, shifting his weight from his left leg to the right one, indicating he was uncomfortable and wanted to end this conversation already. “anything else?”

“that is all,” serena shook off her head before directing her feet to move towards her room. “good night, mason.”

“where were you, anyway?” serena halted her steps at mason’s question. “the past week?”

“why do you care, mason?”

mason knew serena only did that to get back at him but it still annoyed the hell of him. “just answer the damned question.”

“I was hospitalised.”

what? “how?”

“I fell off the stairs.”

what the fuck?! and she didn’t bother to share this piece of information? “okay… how about—”

“the baby? they’re safe, mason,” serena felt the need to turn around to show that she had indeed been doing a good job becoming a mother, no matter how bad mason was at doing his job as the father. “need not worry about it.”

serena might not show it in her words but mason could feel the slight annoyance at the way she turned herself around to him, to blatantly show him that all the reasons he didn’t need to put the blame on her for endangering their child. and it rubbed off in all the wrong way to mason because why was he getting the sticks now?

“I was meaning to ask how about we tell each other about our whereabouts, Jesus Christ,” mason grunted under his breath. serena was truly testing his patience this time… “your beloved palace surely wouldn’t appreciate it if you have a bad husband that doesn’t at least know where you are, no?”

that, serena could take a good moot point when she saw one.

but before serena could open a negotiation to mason’s suggestion, the man shook off his head as he dragged his feet towards his own bedroom. “hospital, of all places… good God.”

next chapter contains:

“how about having your friends over?”

“mason,” serena sighed, a bitter smile making its way to her face. “you’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”

mason couldn’t hide his surprise at her admission. despite being drunk, mason did remember that she went to the club where he was at, the night that led to their situation now, with so many people in tow. “didn’t you have so many friends when going to the club?”

bitter smile still intact, serena looked up this time and levelled mason’s gaze. “welcome to the lonely life of a princess, mason mount.”

#oh-saints writes #mason mount #mason mount x oc #mason mount fic #mason mount fics #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfics #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount angst #mason mount imagine #mason mount imagines #footie fic #footballer x oc #football fics

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book-place · 2 years

Text

Sandbox Fight

Warnings: slight cursing, mentions of small fights, arguments, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Hargreeves siblings x niece reader, Diego Hargreeves x daughter reader

Request: Hello!! Could I please request a Diego Hargreeves x child!reader (around 10 maybe) where she gets into a fight at school but Diego isn't available so all his siblings take his place when they go to the school to talk about it, but eventually he comes and just walks in and sees all his siblings and is like: wtf.

Request by: @your-local-lover

*not my gif*

Summary: Your father was unavailable, but you needed someone. How about a lot of someone’s? Like all your favorite uncles and aunt?

A/N: This one was fun to write

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

“She did not!” Klaus gasped dramatically, as if gossiping, into the old fashioned phone, putting a hand over his mouth for good measure.

“What’s going on?” Allison asked, walking into the kitchen and looking around in confusion.

Viktor was sitting at the table with his head in his hand, using his other one to drum his fingers across the wood of the tabletop and glancing up at Klaus every once in a while. And Luther sat across from him, eating a sandwich.

The blonde haired man shrugged, taking another bite of his food as Klaus shushed all three of them.

“Don’t you worry,” He continued to speak to the person on the other side of the call, “I will be there right away.”

With that he hung up.

Barely a second later he started giggling into the hand that he put over his mouth.

Five walked in and rolled his eyes slightly, “What’s got you grinning like an idiot, over there?”

“I-“ The man giggled again, “I just got a call from Y/n’s principal saying that her parent or guardian needs to go to the school right away because n/n got into a fight!”

Everybody’s jaws dropped, “N/n got into a fight?” Luther asked in shock, unable to picture you fighting anybody.

Only for the fact that your father threatened to ground you for life if you ever did again, not because he didn’t think you wouldn’t gladly get into a fight. You were your fathers daughter after all. Diego was always up for a fight, and you didn’t take his threats lightly, especially since you were only ten years old and in a phase where you took everything said to you very literally.

“But Diego’s out of town for the day.” Allison frowned.

“I know!” Klaus exclaimed happily, “That’s why I’m going in his place!”

“Are we sure that’s the best idea?” Viktor gave him a meaningful look.

He just moved his hand, as if waving off the idea, “Oh, yes, everything is going to be splendid.”

Allison’s hand shot in the air, “Am I the only one who feels like we need to stop that?”

“How about we all go?” Five suggested, rubbing his temples to ward off an oncoming headache.

Viktor shrugged in return and Allison nodded.

Klaus clapped his hands together, “Ooh, wonderful! Let’s go right away!”

“Wait guys!” Luther shouted, mouth full as he tried to stuff down the last of his sandwich while watching his siblings leave the room.

Right before exiting the house, Klaus made sure to leave a message- in very messy handwriting- on a paper near the door telling Diego to go to your school ASAP once he got back.

The ten minute car ride over was filled with screaming, fighting over control of the aux, Five almost getting pulled over for speeding, and Ben appearing and then wishing that he hadn’t.

After parking, everybody filed- more like stumbled- out of the car and in through the doors of the main office, their speaking volume nearly giving the elementary school receptionist a heart attack.

Five had been the one to calmly step forward and tell her that they were here for you- your aunt and uncles- and she had been too busy pointing a shaky finger at the waiting area to even question the clear differences between all of them.

After about five minutes of Ben and Klaus arguing over a seat, Luther falling asleep in his own, Five reading a discarded newspaper, and Allison and Viktor looking like they wanted to be with anyone but them, the principal's office door opened and they were all beckoned in.

They quickly piled in, quickly taking in the sight of you sitting in a chair facing the principals large desk, with a small girl and her parents a couple feet away.

As soon as your uncles and aunt filled the room, you looked up with a large grin, jumping into Viktors arms, “Vicky!” You cheered, hugging him tight.

Your principal was quick to clear his throat obnoxiously before your uncle could even hug back, “Ms. Hargreeves, that is no way to behave.” His scolding was very unnecessary in the eyes of your relatives.

He clearly hadn’t been expecting all these people, because there were only two chairs next to you, which Allison quickly sat down in, and Klaus pushed Luther out of the way to sit in the other.

“Which one of you are her parents?” He asked quite rudely with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, that would be none of us.” Five spoke up from the wall he was leaning against, eyes narrowing, “We are her uncles and aunt, her father couldn’t make it at the moment.”

The principal's eyes quickly cast down to his desk, uncomfortable, “I see.”

The other girl's mom, who’s whole family had been yet to say anything, finally spoke up, “I believe we should get started?” Her words were a question, but her tone was a demand.

“Yes, very well.” He said, sitting up straighter and adjusting his tie, “As you had been informed earlier, Y/n started a fight today at recess.”

“Wait,” Allison said, holding up a hand and raising an eyebrow, “She started the fight?” She found that hard to believe.

After Diego’s threat about being grounded for life, you had been so scared to never eat dessert again that you didn’t even play-fight with Uncle Luther anymore.

The mom was quick to nod, “Oh, yes. She obviously hit my daughter first, and then she only hit back out of self defense.” Her voice was matter-of-fact and snotty.

Five rolled his eyes, “Shocker, your daughter only hit back out of,” he held up air quotes, “‘Self defense’ when Y/n would never start a fight.”

The woman whipped around, nostrils flaring, “Is there something you would like to say to me, young man?” She challenged.

Just as he was about to push off the wall to accept the challenge, Viktor put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, “Why don’t you tell us what happened, Y/n.”

You finally looked up from your spot where you had been kicking the ground, and watched the reassuring faces of your family as you spoke, avoiding eye contact with the glaring mother and father on the other side of the room.

“Well,” You mumbled sheepishly, “I was just trying to play in the sandbox when she came up to me and told me that it was her sandbox and that if I didn’t get out she would hit me.” You took a deep breath before continuing, “I said no because it was still my turn, but she didn’t like that so she threw sand in my eyes and pushed me. And when I was falling my leg accidently hit her and she fell down too.”

When you finished you had tears in your eyes.

Once your family saw this, it made Allison sit up straighter, Klaus become more serious, Luther’s eyebrows to furrow, Ben to glare at the other girl slightly, Viktor to reach out and rub your back comfortingly, and for Five's fists to clench.

The principal studied you for a moment before slowly turning to look at the other little girl, “Is that what happened?”

At first she shook her head, but then you glared at her and snapped, “You get into more trouble if you lie about it then if you tell the truth.” Something your dad used to say to you when you would deny eating the last cookie after he told you not to.

Her eyes widened, and then the tears began flooding out of her eyes.

She let out a sob as they continued cascading down her cheeks like a waterfall and she hiccuped a couple times before saying, “It’s true! I did do that!”

Her parents' eyes widened as they looked down at her and their mouths opened and closed like fish.

From behind you, all your uncles and aunt adopted smug looks.

“W-well she should have just gotten out of the sandbox!” Her mom stuttered out, standing up and pointing at you accusingly.

Then all hell broke loose.

That was the last straw for your family.

Allison stood up immediately and started a yelling match with the other mom, each one of them getting louder every time sound came out of their mouth.

The dad started glaring at you and Luther immediately moved in front of you to block his view of you, Five following close behind.

Both of them began snapping at the man, telling him off and giving him a good scolding.

The little girl, who was still crying, had started to bawl even harder and Klaus came up next to her and started telling her about the time he lied and his nose grew.

He didn’t exactly tell her that it didn’t actually happen to him, he was just talking about the old movie, Pinocchio.

Even though nobody could see him, Ben was glaring at the principal, who looked around nervously, as if he could feel someone watching him.

Just then, the door opened, but nobody seemed to notice, even you were too busy watching everything else going on around you.

“What the-“ Diego asked, stopping short when all the chaos in the room immediately shut off as everyone noticed his presence.

“Oh!” Klaus looked delighted as he turned around, “Did you get my note?”

“Yeah, I got the note.” The man said, eyebrows furrowed in both confusion and concern.

“Daddy!” You cheered, hopping out of your chair and running into his arms.

This time, the principal was too afraid to scold you.

After that, Allison had flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically and taken you out of Diego’s arms, strutting out of the room, the rest of your family quickly following.

It was safe to say that the principal or that girl never seemed to have a problem with you again after that. Your family just seemed to scare them too much. You honestly had no idea why.

Even better though, you weren’t even grounded for getting into a fight, Uncle Klaus then used that as an excuse to take everybody out to ice cream. With Five buying, of course.

The Hargreeves 🦹- @lovanitu @your-local-questioning-agender @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @mukbee

#platonic #platonic imagine #x reader #child reader #umbrella academy season three #umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy #allison hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves x reader platonic #diego hargreeves x reader platonic #Diego Hargreeves x daughter reader #Luther Hargreeves x reader platonic #klaus hargreeves x reader platonic #five hargreeves x platonic!reader #Ben Hargreeves x reader platonic #Viktor Hargreeves x reader platonic

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exquisiteserotonin · 10 months

Text

I haven't written fic in such a long time, but Pedro is such a muse. Also I initially thought my writings were going to be on my original tumblr, but I decided to move them here for organization. Enjoy! <3

Better Than Vanilla

Mr. Ben x F! Reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing: Mr. Ben (SNL) x F!Reader (HS English Teacher)

Warnings: 18+,MDNI, Explicit content, SMUT, language, oral sex (male and female receiving), light bondage, PIV sex, praise, Mr. Ben is the consent king.

“So, when you get a steal, you have to conference with your team,” you emphasize, hoping that your exasperation wasn’t obvious.

One of the 6 students in your classroom began crunching on a snack he reached for in his backpack.

“Ugh!” exclaimed one of the female students, snapping a dirty look at him. “He’s not being serious!”

The student raised his hands and shrugged, “What? I’m hungry? Coach, pleeeease?”

The urge to roll your eyes grew as you heard the student whine. Ben, your colleague and academic team co-advisor, snatched up the packet of Voortman vanilla wafers.

“Thanks for the snack, kid!” he quipped as placed the wafers on your desk with a wink before turning back to your group of students. “I think we’re gonna call it a day, don’t you think?”

A sigh of relief floated from your students as they hoisted on their backpacks to leave. You also felt a weight lift off your chest and shoulders as the left. A small smile was all you could muster as the last of them shuffled out of your room. Two students lingered behind giggling as they asked Mr. Ben for extra advice. You sauntered over to your desk and sunk into your chair, organizing the mountain of papers screaming to be graded. Meanwhile the two lingerers continued their giggles as they left your classroom. Their goodbye to you was friendly and quick, the opposite of the one they offered to your counterpart.

“Bye, Mr. Beeeeeeeen.”

It escaped their lips like a squeal. Adding a groan to your eye roll seemed apropos, but you managed to keep your composure. Supervising and sponsoring an extracurricular club full of hormonal teenagers was a small price to pay, especially if it meant more money in your paycheck. You at least had the company of a colleague despite him being the object of infatuation for nearly half the student body of St Lawrence High School. Ben sat at the corner of your desk, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater and button-up shirt.

“Thanks for taking those, by the way,” you commented as he grabbed the confiscated vanilla wafers and popped one in his mouth, savoring it.

“God, I love these!” he declared, devouring another one after the first.

“Ugh, why,” you questioned, “they’re so boring.”

“You’re probably eating them wrong,” he teased. “If you let the wafer sit in your mouth a little bit, you can feel the vanilla cream just kind of melt all over.”

You cleared your throat at his description. It sounded sinful and gave you enough pause to briefly reconsider the wafers as an inferior snack. Lifting your gaze to him, you reaffirmed your resolve, “nope, too vanilla.”

He was interested in you, that much you could sense. A combination of professionalism and apprehension prohibited you from any kind of active pursuit.

A little flirting is harmless, your mind spoke. Right?

He shrugged before finishing the last of the wafers.

“How do you think they’re doing?” He asked, pointing his chin towards the door where your students had exited.

“They’re so smart,” you replied and tapped his forearm with pencil , “but I think they’re easily distracted.”

“By me?” He scoffed, throwing his hands up.

“Yeah, I know, I don’t get it,” you teased, “Must be the way you wear your tie.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” he said dryly, playfully tossing a white board eraser at you as you opened your laptop. “Are you seriously doing more work right now? It’s Friday.”

“Hey, I’m still considered the new girl in town,” you replied as you set a stack of papers next to you to grade, “I still have to earn my keep.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, approaching your classroom. In the doorway stood Jenny, a close friend to you and best friend to Ben.

Her arms crossed in front of her, she tutted before speaking, “you’re not seriously working this late on a Friday?!”

“That’s exactly what I told her!”

“You’re coming out with us, right?” Jenny asked. “With me, Ben, and Kate?”

“I’m trying to be good and finish these grades up; I’ve been procrastinating,” was the explanation you offered.

“It’s Friday, we’ve been here all week; do it tomorrow,” Ben suggested, giving Jenny a hug before bouncing out of your classroom. “I’m gonna head home for a minute and I’ll meet you guys there.”

“You got it,” Jenny agreed.

“Make sure this one doesn’t stay here too late,” he commented, directing his eyes to you.

Jenny nodded and you furiously began entering grades in your laptop as he left. Grabbing a student chair, she parked herself in front of your desk. The quick clicks and clacks of your typing echoed over the peaceful silence of your room. Soon she was leaning over your desk with a grin and a raised brow. She knew you well enough to realize that it wouldn’t take too much convincing to close your laptop and join her for some post-work revelries. Instead of continuing to try to convince yourself to be productive, you gave into the invitation, but not before gauging the situation a little further.

“Wait a second, this isn’t a work thing, is it?”

“Oh god, no!” Jenny sneered. “You know they’re not exactly our people.”

Your agreement with Jenny was an understatement. It wasn’t that you disliked working at St. Lawrence. The prestige that came with being a student there was also bound to the excellence of the faculty and staff. The administrators would beam at any good news that followed the people that worked at the school. This also meant being hired at the school was no easy task, especially when parents paid for a certain level of prestige. A sense of entitlement would sometimes extend to their colleagues, sometimes making team building insufferable.

“Kate’s going?” you asked Jenny, speaking of her girlfriend who did not work at the school.

She nodded, helping you pack your things and walking you out of the building and towards her silver Honda Civic.

“Do you need a ride?” Jenny teased, “you know, in case things get a little bit wild.”

“Sure, we can carpool,” you agreed. “And please, things aren’t going to get that wild.”

You took off your too-formal blazer that you had worn for most of the school day and straightened your pencil skirt before you sat in the passenger seat. You looked over with suspicion at Jenny and noticed her making an extra effort to maintain a reserved silence. As she started to drive, she glanced at you, tightening her lips.

“Are you going to give Ben a chance this time?”

You rolled your head and eyes towards her and an exasperated, but involuntary laugh escaped you.

“So, there it is.” You sighed, now fully aware of her intentions. “Why do you always try to set me up with him?”

“Because you are attractive, he is attractive, you’re both intelligent and single,” Jenny stated matter-of-factly. “And I love you both dearly and you two would make the cutest couple.”

You smiled in appreciation of your friend’s efforts. With it only being your second year of teaching at St. Lawrence, navigating friendships was still difficult as many of the teachers had been working there for a decade or more. You latched onto Jenny quickly, first as a department colleague and next as a kindred spirit in personality and interests. She urged you to sponsor the academic team this school year, knowing that her best friend in the math department, Ben, would be co-sponsor. Trusting her judgment, you knew that he was at the very least safe and respectful.

“What are you thinking?” Jenny's eyes twinkled. “You know he thinks you’re pretty hot.”

“Jenny, shut up!”

You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress your increasing intrigue. Aside from his math expertise and help in planning the academic team, “Mr. Ben’s” good-natured reputation among staff preceded him. He had always been friendly and managed to bring entertainment to even the most mundane faculty meeting. And of course, you also were most recently inundated with the way students giggled, blushed, and ogled him as he walked through the halls. As much as you hated to admit it, especially to yourself, he was pretty cute. The TikTok incident at the school assembly was to blame, you convinced yourself.

“I mean,” you paused, an image of him eating vanilla wafers at your desk flashed in your brain, “I guess he‘s cute, he’s just—he just seems so…vanilla.”

“VANILLA?!” Jenny’s voice squeaked incredulously, and it caught you by surprise. “Are you serious?”

“He wears pullover cashmere sweaters!” You cried with laughter.

“We can’t all be perfect!” she laughed with you.

Before you realized it, you had arrived at a restaurant far enough from campus, decreasing the likelihood that you’d run into any teachers or parents from your school. Jenny studied you as you got out of the car. She undid the top two buttons of your dusty pink blouse, revealing a slinky, tan, lace bodysuit you had beneath.

“Ooh, you hussy,” she teased, adding with a wink, “by the way, Ben is probably about as vanilla as you.”

The last few words silenced you. You felt your eyes get wide and felt heat growing on the apples of your cheeks.

Trying to recompose yourself, you followed Jenny inside. Ahead of you, Jenny spotted her girlfriend, Kate, who gave her a bright smile and a sweet peck to her lips.

They then lead you to a u-shaped booth with plush, rich, teal fabric peaking at the edge. And then him. Ben. You stole a glance at Jenny before she pushed you in front of her and into the booth.

“Hey Mr. Ben,” you greeted.

“Just Ben,” he replied with a boyish grin, “we’re not at work, we don’t need to use the formalities.”

You nodded and slid closer to him, as Jenny followed you into the booth. The proximity provided a different window for you to look at him. His brown wavy hair was perfectly mussed; his shoulders were loose, relaxed, and he had even discarded the confines of his tie and cashmere sweater. Amplifying his breeziness was how he had not one, not two, but three buttons undone on his pale, terracotta colored shirt. They whispered to you to peek at his neck and chest which always remained hidden during the school day. It was as though you were bearing witness to something you weren’t supposed to see. The thought warmed your cheeks.

Maybe Jenny was right. Maybe he wasn’t as vanilla as you presumed.

“You didn’t take my advice from earlier,” he stated plainly, “you stayed at work late!”

“Hey, it wasn’t that late,” you retorted, teasingly pushing into him with your shoulder and hip.

“Jenny texted me that you almost didn’t come out with us,” he murmured, a trace of disappointment soaked in his words as he took another sip of his beer. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

He pressed into your side so your shoulders touched.

“Hmm,” you mused, wondering what more you could pull from him, “really glad, huh?”

“Well,” his lips appeared poutier in thought, “I had to see if you were more than just an amazing…brain with a good work ethic.”

His tone had you thinking sinfully again, just as when he described the vanilla wafers.

“I guess you’re about to find out,” you replied, the words coming out with ease and your tone like honey trapping a fly with sticky sweetness.

Ben looked at you with surprise, giving you a smirk and a wink. That wink was dangerous.

“What are you drinking?”

“I should ask you that,” you stated, grazing his thumb that rested on his beer mug, “is that a bock, pils, a lager?”

Ben looked at you with a raised brow, impressed. He tipped his beer towards you in acknowledgement and beckoned for a waiter to come to their booth. The response was quick, a young woman rushing to your table.

“My friend right here will have a Yuengling, like me,” he touched the small of your back and then leaned over you to get Jenny’s attention.

A tingle climbed up your spine, like electricity climbing up your back, and down again igniting every nerve ending. You fidgeted in your seat and fixed your gaze at him. You tapped your foot, counted inside your head, and observed to see if the electricity would leave. It didn’t.

Fuck, you thought. This is new.

Your attention found its way back to you. It was possible that Ben had asked Jenny what she wanted to drink, since you heard her request for an Old Fashioned. A different kind of clarity took over you as you kept your eyes on him, like seeing something in high definition. His nose was prominent and strong. His facial hair grew in endearing patches. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, revealing a dimple on his right cheek.

“What convinced you to finally come out with us?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” you replied thoughtfully, “the promise that there would be no unwanted co-workers here.”

Ben scratched at the patchy facial hair on his chin and turned to you. His chocolatey brown eyes were big, expectant, and you swore you noticed a not-so-innocent twinkle in them.

“How’s that working out for you?”

Before you could answer, the server returned with your drinks. She handed Jenny her Old Fashioned but before you could reach your hand to take your beer, Ben took hold of it and handed it to you. It was an authentic attempt at being charming. A self-study of the consistent butterflies fluttering in your abdomen floating up to your chest, neck and shoulders declared to you that his attempt was working.

“I guess the kids were right, Ben,” you admitted, “you are in your assembly era.”

He guffawed, his voice rich and throaty. He shook his head and ran his right hand through his hair.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

With an up and down nod of your head you confirmed his answer and turned towards Jenny, “and neither are you, mommy.”

Jenny nearly choked on her old fashioned as you reminded her of her role in the fancam debacle.

“First of all, yes, I am mommy,” she affirmed and looked intently at Ben before shifting her eyes to you to wink, “and second of all, those kids don’t need to be messing in our romantic business anyway.”

Suddenly, Ben became bashful. You swore his cheeks turned the same shade of reddish pink as his shirt. Vanilla or not, you decided that Jenny’s testament of him as a good human being was worth further exploration.

For the rest of the evening, you and Ben traded life stories over intermittent drinks. Things you discovered about each other included siblings, your older brother to his older sister and younger brother. You found he was passionate not just about teaching, but math as well and was too much of a kid to work with adults 24/7. His favorite part of teaching, like yours, was to advocate for students who never had anyone to believe in them. And a shared love of late 90s, early 2000s alternative rock led you two to engage in heavy critique of the cover band playing for the evening.

“What do you think of the band?” he asked at one point during their set.

“If they play Creed, it’s over, I’m peace-ing out,” you replied in a deadpan voice.

He keeled over in laughter, leaning over towards your shoulder.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. He smells so good.

You found yourself staring at his neck and the hint of chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt. It made you feel shallow. You glanced at your watch as a distraction, noting it was nearly midnight. Jenny had been ushered out at Kate’s behest, indicating that the whiskey was making her extra drunk and extra sleepy. You were now without a ride.

“My driver left me,” you sighed to Ben.

“Oh shit,” Ben remarked, “I would offer to take you home, but I might have to Uber it---I’m not sure I can drive.”

An inspired proposition entered your mind. A conflict waged in your mind, contemplating all the ways this evening could end and the one way you wanted it to, “Um…well, we could share an Uber.”

“Well, sure,” he replied earnestly, “if you don’t mind.”

He followed you as you beckoned him outside with a single look. As you stood before each other, you noted the broadness of his shoulders as he reached his hands over his head to stretch, rolling his shoulders up and then down the length of his back. You caught a glimpse of the elastic of his boxer briefs and his belly. The physicality of his movements was enticing and kept the tingling flame you felt earlier in your stomach alight, willing it to travel lower between your legs.

I’m fucked. You thought to yourself.

Ben opened the car door for you. You slid in and he followed, his knee brushing against your leg where your pencil skirt had slid up a few inches. Ben slid in, reaching over, grazing the exposed skin of your thigh with his hand. He looked up at you holding your gaze captive for what seemed like minutes.

“Sorry,” his voice came out in a gravelly hush.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you countered, biting your lip involuntarily.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you spoke softly, keeping your eyes on him.

A grin grew on Ben’s face. “Same.”

Emboldened with desire, your hand caressed the mapwork of veins on his forearm, gently tracing the curve of his knuckles, and the lines on his fingers until he opened his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You watched, transfixed, as his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He turned to face you, your noses just a few inches apart. You tilted your head and perused the shape of his pouty lips, soft, and inviting. Nuzzling your nose to his, your lips nearly touched his sweet pout.

“I’m going to ask you in,” the confession melted off your tongue.

He took another deep breath, and you swear that once again, for the third time that evening, his cheeks were quickly painted red. The car began to slow as you noticed it approaching your neighborhood, until it stopped in front of your modest, but adorable mid-century home. You slid out of the car, leaving your door open for him to follow. When he did, your exhalation threatened to consume you. A hot-blooded thumping coursing through your body. He closed the car door gently behind him, thanking the driver with a wave before he turned to follow up on the walkway to your door.

Fumbling for your keys, you felt him close in behind you, feeling the heat escaping from your body and his. A tiny gasp escaped as you felt his hand behind you, touching you first at the small of your back and then circling around to land at your hip. He stepped forward and pulled your body close. Instantly, you felt a tenting build in his pants, pressing himself against you while you unlocked the door. Reverberating tingles vibrating over every inch of your skin. His other hand caressed up your triceps, to your shoulders, gently brushing the hair away from your neck leaving goose bumps behind in their wake. Replacing his hand, his nose caressed your neck, breathing you until you felt his lips taste you with gentle kisses.

“Fuck me,” he panted, warms breaths leaving him as your touch pulsated through every cell in his body.

“That’s the plan,” you smirked and growled at him

You rushed into the house, shoving the door closed behind you. Your lips caressed his Adam’s apple, breathing him in as you licked, kissed, and nibbled on his neck and ear. A growl rattled from him to your ears, his heat rising from his body with each touch. You pressed your lips hungry meeting his soft pout. Instinctively your hands weaved through the soft waves of his hair, until you tugged at it. Not too hard, not too soft but just enough for him to open his mouth with a gasp, allowing you to savor the taste of his bottom lip with your tongue until you met his tongue with fervor.

You pulled from him to take a breath of frenzied desire as you simultaneously attacked each other’s buttons. You marveled at his broad chest and shoulders as you pulled back his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. A wanton dizziness took over you as his large hands pulled you effortlessly towards him. His bulge throbbed against you as you pressed your pelvis into his, gasping and heady with desire. Electric desire moved through you, your skin on fire as a primal lust darkened his eyes while he studied your tits and how your nipples stood at attention, beneath the tan, lacy fabric of your bodysuit.

“Fuck, baby,” the way he growled at you was decidedly not vanilla, “you’re so fucking pretty.”

Lips hot and swollen you grabbed him by the belt loops of his slacks, pulling him towards your bedroom. A giddy gasp escaped you when the jingle of his loose belt buckle reached your ears, sliding it free from its confines tossing and onto your bed.

Ben caressed your shoulders and began to play with the thin straps of your body suit pulling them slowly down your arms, down the fabric covering your breasts, ruching the fabric as he slid it down to your waist. A moan escaped lips as he pulled you with one hand at your waist and the other found a home at your neck with the perfect amount of pressure. A yelp left you as he pushed back against you until you felt the edge of the bed behind your knees, where you fell together.

His mouth found your right nipple licking the numb in tight circles before taking a small bite. The fire on your skin grew hotter from the wet heat of his tongue and it left you panting for more. His deep laugh rumbled from his chest to yours. In his dark eyes he reveled at how he was slowly making you come undone. That pout of his traveled the valley of your chest and gave your other nipple the same attention.

You felt his hardening cock against your thigh and your core began to pound and cry for him. Reaching your hand to his boxer briefs you pull at his cock, eliciting a low moan as your hands slid off the barrier keeping you from his thick hard member. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size. An astonished gulp left your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Your grip barely closed around its girth as you stroked up and down his entire length. A tear of precum escaped the tip. You look up at him deviously and bring your tongue down to taste the saltiness of him. You then wrap your lips around him, taking as much of him in as you possibly can, causing your cheeks to hollow. The taste of him was a perfect combination of sweet and musky and sometimes salty as a hint of more precum coated your tongue.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “Stop, wait.”

You released him with an audible pop, pouting a little bit.

“I just want to make you feel good.”

“Fuck, are you real?” He sighed, brushing his hands through wavy locks.

You nodded and then gasped as he grabbed you and tossed you on the bed like a rag doll. An excited moan leapt from you through heaving breaths as you savored the feeling of his naked body as he crawled over you. A different expression took over his gentle face as he caressed you and kissed your inner biceps as he raised both of your hands above your head. His hot breath branded you as he began to whisper into your ear.

“Can I cuff you with my belt,” he growled.

A whimper escaped you. You were no stranger to being cuffed, but the offer from Ben was…unexpected. The wetness at your core grew when he asked and all you could do was nod.

“Good thing you picked the correct answer,” he sighed, satisfying his hunger with a taste of your lips.

“I like this,” you keened, “this side of you.”

“Good, because you’re going to do exactly as I say,” the demand made you breathless. “You’re going to move when I say you move. You’re going to cum when I let you cum and I’m going to fuck you, when I’m ready.”

“Ben--,” you called out his name like a mantra.

He grabbed his belt from where you had tossed it on the bed. His hands moved with the quick competence of a man who had definitely done this before. The deftness in the way looped the leather as he cuffed your wrists with the perfect amount of pressure left you panting.

“You sure this is OK?” he asked, his fingers gingerly stroking your face and lips.

You opened your mouth taking one digit, swirling your tongue around it, and sucking the tip.

You nod and replied, “Consent is so fucking sexy.”

He smiled and kissed your lips, neck, and breasts. He pulled your pencil skirt from your body, but tortuously left you in your bodysuit, damp with heat of your desire. Your breaths were heavy with anticipation as he traveled to your ankle, up your calf, to your knee, to your inner thigh, until he floated closer to your center. His nose breathed in the scent of your wet core and his broad shoulders pushed your legs apart, licking at the fabric that separated her from his tongue.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” he moaned, kissing, and licking the fabric again causing shivers to erupt all over your body.

“Ben!” You cried and you writhed beneath him. “Please.”

Your wrists strained against the thick leather of his belt, desperate to touch and grip his body with your hands. our back when you heard him chuckle as he pulled the thin fabric of the bottom of your bodysuit to the side. He flattened his tongue, pressing it through your folds and up to your clit. Like a man starved, he devoured you licking up and down, up, and down and then circling and sucking at your clit. Then he took sanctuary there, making it his place of worship, circling you, sucking you and then licking you again, between maddeningly slow and unbearably fast. A jolt twisted through your body when he slowed down to a stop.

“Oh fuck, Ben, please,” you begged, “I need to cum, please, let me cum.”

“You sure?” his voice full of wanton lust.

You bucked your hips towards him, and you felt his soft pouty lips smirk into your core. His large hands ripped the thin, cheap fabric of your bodysuit, tossing it to the floor. A lascivious chuckle rumbled from his chest as his hands seized your hips before putting his mouth back to work on you. You were devoured, as if you were the last and best meal he would ever have. You trembled slowly at first, your core beginning to quiver and quake. The quaking moved outwards from your core, ready to erupt within your body, as he teased, licked, and sucked, slowing down, or speeding up until you cried out his name begging for mercy.

“Oh god, Ben; you’re so good,” you wailed, the leather becoming tauter around your wrists. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes while your breaths became more and more ragged.

“Yes, sweetheart, cum for me, cum for me then I’ll fuck you.”

An order, not a request.

A tightness began resonating outward from your core, as Ben latched his mouth to your clit and suddenly you felt him push not one, but two fingers deep inside you, finger fucking you relentlessly until you could do nothing but cry out and scream his name. Your own personal mantra. A merciless spark took over your body until every inch of you trembled, as a wetness spread onto your sheets beneath you.

“Wow, baby, you are amazing,” he sighed, granting you a moment to regain your composure.

It felt as though you had run a marathon, you were breathing so hard.

“Was that?” You asked in shock through breaths, “did I?”

“Yes, and it was amazing,” he confirmed, releasing your hands from his thick leather belt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never squirted before.”

You shook your head vigorously, the freedom of your hands allowing you to pull his face towards you in a passionate kiss. He growled over you, capturing you by the waist, allowing your bodies to savor the heat and sweat from one another.

“You taste so good,” he praised. “Sorry about your bodysuit, I guess I’ll have to buy you a new one.”

It didn’t matter. Clothes just seemed like an annoying inconvenience. You needed to be naked with him. You felt how rock hard his member was, upright and ready for you.

“Ben, please, I need you inside me.”

“Condom?”

You held his gaze before speaking, “I’m clean and protected, you?”

The excitement rose within you again at his confirmation. He leaned over you, his eyes almost black with lust. He pushed your legs apart with his muscular thighs before kneeling upright, his large, capable hands dragging your hips towards him. He wrapped your legs around his hips as he grabbed the base of his throbbing cock, slapping it to your clit, nearly making you scream. Your heart pounded into your ears as he lined up his tip to your glistening entrance. He pushed through your slickness, inch by inch, agonizingly slow, rewarding you with his pulsating girth . You threw your head back, nearly sobbing as he stretched you. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as he rolled his hips into yours, moving his length in and out.

“You’re so big, you feel so good,” you praised as you felt him increase his pace.

“I’m never leaving this pretty little cunt,” he groaned as he rolled and thrust into you.

“Faster, baby, fuck me harder, faster,” you implored.

His thick fingers pressed into your hips, and he began to drive into you exactly as you asked, pounding into your tight, wet cunt. Your name left his lips in repeated growls through gritted teeth. It was like he fucking owned you. A gravelly hiss leaves his throat as your walls rippled and squeezed his thick cock. He thrusted deep into you, hitting your g-spot and you gifted him with a loud moan of his name, your voice unable to form any other words.

His left hand pressed down hard at the base of your neck, and you felt his thrusts begin to roll into you at a slower pace. With his right hand, he lifted your knee towards your chest, hooking it over his shoulder. A pleading whimper escaped your lips when it felt like he was almost completely out of you. But as quickly as the thought drifted in, he pounded into you even harder than before. The pleasure was amplified one-hundred times with the newfound angle. The way his cock pounded your g-spot was somehow better this way and just as you thought it couldn’t get more perfect, Ben took his hand from your neck and began circling your clit with his thumb.

You let out a long, loud moan, crying out his name in a never-ending chant. “Ben! I can’t, my pussy can’t, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck, me too, baby,” he moaned with each thrust. “Wh—where, can I?”

“Cum inside me!” you demanded.

His cock throbbed and reverberated in you, until you found it impossible to contain everything you felt. Your orgasm washed all over you, your core quivering and every part of your body shaking as he thrust in with every bit of strength he had. Not once, not twice, but three more times, he chased your high with his own until you felt him fill you with ropes of his sweet, hot cum. Your voice cried out with him as he hissed and moaned through his own orgasm. His cock stayed sheathed within you, savoring how your core pulsated around him. He released his hands from your hips and slowly he pulled out of you. You let out a luxurious gasp, feeling a twinge of sadness from not feeling him inside you anymore.

A breath of satisfied exhaustion left him as he rolled next to you, but he also deftly found a way to wrap you in his arms, pulling you close into him. You came down from your high together and you listened intently to his heartbeat as you caressed his chest gently with your fingers. He brought his left hand to yours and began to mirror your gentle touches, bringing your palm to his lips kissing the inside of it. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you even closer, your legs tangled together, your bodies still glowing. You closed your eyes, breathing him in as you felt the velvety soft touch of his fingers caressing your hair and your shoulders. He pressed his soft lips to your forehead, a kiss so gentle it stood in direct contrast to how relentlessly he had fucked you. And it all felt right.

You looked up at him and he held his gaze to yours. A serene smile grew on your face, your cheeks flushing with a rosy warmth.

“Wow,” was the only thing that could leave your lips as you caught your breath.

The balmy air of sex hovered over you. A feeling of surprise and giddiness mixed in with the afterglow as you thought of the pale pink impressions the leather of his belt left on your wrists. Just thinking of the way he controlled your body with his tongue, hands, and cock was almost enough to make your arousal reawaken.

“Mmmm, that was not…vanilla,” you exhaled, chuckling at the thought of him eating those snack wafers, “you are an enigma, sweet Ben.”

“Thank you, I think?” He laughed.

Your hand traced up his Adam’s apple, snuggling against him and caressing your fingers along his endearingly patchy facial hair. You propped yourself up and brought your face close to his, nuzzling your nose against his, inviting him in for a sensual kiss.

“I promise you, it’s a good thing,” a giggle escaped your lips. “Even just laying here with you is…it’s something.”

“Something you want to try again?” he asked, his breath hitching as he waited for your answer.

“Fuck yeah,” you replied without hesitation. “But…”

“Uh oh, there’s a…butt!” He laughed, as he smacked your behind, tingling your core again with desire.

“Ben,” you laughed with him, gently caressing the soft skin of his pelvis, “what I was going to say is, ‘yes, there is a 100 percent chance of this happening again,’ as long as you take me out on a real date.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the most attractive and radiant smile.

“How does breakfast sound?”

“Mmmm,” you whispered, pulling your soft bed sheets over the two of you, “I would love that.”

Thank you to my darling friends @legendary-pink-dot & @blueheat1-blog for beta-ing this for me! <3

#mr. ben x reader #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal fic #juice bar collective #juice collective

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waywardxwords · 9 months

Text

5. No Time

Chapter 5 of Little Secrets

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,312

Warnings: Case, talks of family death *this chapter and case is based on the episode "Red Sky at Morning"*

MASTERLIST

The case in Cicero was exhausting once the trio realized it involved the safety of the town’s children. Dean was concerned about Lisa and her son, Ben. Meanwhile, Sam and Y/N had done whatever they could to get to the bottom of the situation with the victims’ families. It had felt like forever, but the case was solved and taken care of within three days. This was the first instance of Changelings any of them had seen, but John’s journal had certainly come in handy while solving it.

“So, I don’t know about you but I could use a long weekend in Vegas,” Dean piped up from the front seat as a playful grin graced his lips. Y/N managed a small smile, and Sam had one to match from his spot on the passenger’s seat.

“Dean, Vegas? Really?” Sam laughed, his tone full of sleep. Y/N knew they had only gotten about three hours of rest the night before, if that. There was no reason to waste a day in Indiana; once the case was closed, they were back on the road. It was always like clockwork.

Dean seemed to be the only one content with just a few hours of sleep. That, or he was really good at faking it for the sake of the two other people in the car.

“Deanie, if we’re taking a long weekend then I just wanna sleep,” Y/N groaned from the backseat. She leaned her head against the cool glass of the Impala’s back passenger window and closed her eyes for added measure. “So take me wherever the hell you want, but please God, let there be a bed.”

Dean chuckled. “See what it’s like playing in the Major Leagues, Y/N?” His eyes gleamed back at her in the rearview mirror as he managed a wink. Y/N’s eyes opened as she narrowed in on him with a scowl.

“Alright, alright,” Sam laughed, playing referee yet again as his eyes glanced over a few different newspapers he held on his lap. They always picked up the major papers from stops along the way to keep an eye on anything strange happening in the world–specifically supernatural strange. “Dean, it looks like there’s some weird stuff happening in Washington.”

“Ah, come on, Sammy. Things in the northwest are always a little weird. Doesn’t mean we have to chase every cat that barks,” Dean groaned. Dean rarely complained about the lifestyle, as far as Y/N could tell. In all honesty, she never really met a hunter who complained. It was the way things were; they had a job to do and they knew it wouldn’t get done if they didn’t do it. But every person needed a vacation every once in a while.

“We just chased after a fall on a power saw because you wanted to get laid,” Y/N laughed from the backseat. “What’s in Washington, Sam?” It was unavoidable; her tone had softened when she directed the conversation back to the youngest Winchester. She hoped Dean hadn’t picked up on it. She truly felt like if she and Sam could keep this from everyone around them (over-protective big brothers included), that maybe–just maybe–they would have a shot at making this work. Whatever this was, exactly.

“There have been three cases so far of people drowning,” Sam began as he turned his attention back to the newspaper in his hands. Before he could continue, Dean cut in with a grunt.

“Oh yeah, because drowning just screams our kinda job.”

Sam eyed him with his eyebrows raised. “Even drowning in the shower?”

Dean didn’t have a response. Y/N pulled her lips between her teeth to keep the laugh bubbling up her throat at bay. “Sounds like our kinda game…”

Sam glanced back at his brother. Dean leaned his head back and groaned. “One day off, is that too much to ask for?” He asked no one in particular as he switched lanes. Sam laughed and smiled back at Y/N. He managed a subtle wink before he turned back to face the road.

Y/N smoothed down her black pencil skirt as the trio approached the modest, yet beautiful home in the suburbs of town. She felt for her fake police badge nestled in the inner pocket of her blazer jacket and took in a deep breath of the cool, autumn air. The air was brisk against her lungs, but she loved the chill it brought–it was refreshing.

“Alright, so Sam is my partner and you’re an intern, Y/N,” Dean explained as they walked along the sidewalk path leading to the stairs of the front porch.

Y/N looked at him incredulously. “An intern?” She snorted and shook her head. “Nuh uh, nice try, Deanie. I’m your supervisor, tagging along on the case for investigation purposes.” She planted her feet on the sidewalk and folded her arms over her chest to show her refusal to move until he agreed.

Dean laughed loudly and stopped to pivot back towards her. “Yeah, okay,” he said sarcastically. “That would mean the department was undermining mine and Sam’s–”

Sam interrupted Dean before he could finish his thought. “Okay, okay,” he held up his hands. Y/N looked at him, her eyebrows cocked in a manner that asked him: Well, referee?

Sam glanced between his brother and his newfound romantic interest–his eyes were wide and his mouth was suddenly very dry. “Uh…” he tried to think it over for a moment. “Okay, so Dean and I are partners and Y/N is tagging along because she’s investigating a similar case. Deal?” He glanced between the two of them.

A smug smile stretched across Y/N’s face, completely satisfied. Her black pumps clicked upon the cement sidewalk as she moved past the pair towards the porch once more. Dean looked at Sam in shock.

“Seriously?!” Dean’s frustration was evident in his tone. “Whatever happened to bros before hoes, Sammy?” Sam knew Dean wasn’t insinuating that he knew something was going on between him and Y/N, but it still made his cheeks flush red.

“Just…let’s go,” Sam sighed as they followed Y/N’s steps towards the home.

She had already rung the doorbell, so there was no room to argue any longer. Before long, an older woman–probably in her early 70s–opened the dark wooden door with a smile upon her lips.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asked sweetly as she eyed the three people in business-attire before her.

“Hi, Mrs. Case,” Y/N began with a kind smile. “We’re sorry to bother you, but my name is Y/N L/N, and these are two of my fellow detectives, Sam Angus and Dean Young.” The three of them flashed their badges for the woman to look at. “We’re here to assist in the investigation involving your niece, Sheila.”

The older woman’s smile fell slowly as her eyes traveled towards the ground, signaling for the three of them to stash their badges back in their suit jackets. “Oh good, I’m glad to see those good-for-nothing officers decided to send detectives after all. Please, come in,” she held the door open and stood back. Y/N smiled at the boys and walked ahead of them past Gertrude Case into the living room.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dean flipped the switch for his infamous Dean Winchester charm and it was game on. The elderly woman eyed him with a wink.

“Oh, please call me Gert,” she beamed flirtatiously. Y/N and Sam both had to bite the inside of their bottom lips from laughing. Dean seemed slightly disturbed but cleared his throat and managed a smile.

“Gert, can I ask you something?” This was Y/N’s tactic and the boys loved her for it–especially when it came to women they were questioning. Gert seemed interested and nodded. “Why are you so open to us doing an investigation when your niece’s death was ruled a drowning?”

It was a valid question; they had all wondered how Gertrude would react to having three investigators going over the details of her niece’s death once more when the autopsy had ruled it to be accidental.

Gert managed a small smile. “My niece was not suicidal, and she was a fantastic swimmer,” she explained. “And even so, have you ever heard of someone drowning in the shower before?” She glanced between the three hunters. They all shook their heads ‘no’. “Exactly. Bathtub, maybe. But in the shower? Standing up? Even if she passed out and fell on her back, it would be nearly impossible. I know there’s something more here…” she trailed off.

Y/N watched her inquisitively. There was something she wasn’t saying. “What do you think happened?”

The boys seemed confused by her question. The fact that this woman believed in the supernatural was highly unlikely. But Y/N asked, or prompted her, anyway.

After studying the understanding expressions of the three people in front of her, she continued. “Have you ever heard of a ghost ship before?”

Y/N hadn’t, and neither had Dean by the shake of his head. Sam glanced between the three of them and then back to Gert before nodding tentatively. “Like the Flying Dutchman.”

Gert’s eyes almost managed to light up. “Exactly!” She exclaimed. “Are you sure you’re associated with the officials?” Her question made Y/N’s throat run dry–was she about to have them made? “No one has even listened to me so far. They all look at me like I’m crazy.”

“Well, we’re listening,” Dean leaned forward with a smile. “Trust us, we know crazy.”

Gert seemed hesitant at first, but heaved a sigh before continuing. “Well, there’s this tale of a ship that sailed in the 1800s, a merchant sailing vessel. It was called Espirito Santo. In 1859, one of their sailors was accused of treason and hanged.”

To any other person, it wouldn’t seem like much to go off of. Even to Y/N, she was a bit confused. In her mind–the man who had been hanged could be a spirit, but wouldn’t he just haunt the vessel he was on? What would bring him to Sheila Case’s bathroom?

“Sheila had said she spotted the ship off the coast on her run one evening just a few nights ago along the port,” Gert seemed skeptical about the information she was providing them, but anything could help.

“So, you believe in all this? The ghost ship?” Dean asked curiously after she finished.

“Is there a better explanation?” Gert asked, exasperated. “I know my niece didn’t drown in the shower. I know she was spooked by a ship she thought she saw a few days before. I don’t know what to believe in, exactly.”

Y/N glanced at the boys. “Thanks for all the information, Gert,” Sam offered the elderly woman a friendly smile.

“Oh, my pleasure,” she beamed, winking at Dean as they all stood so the three of them could leave. “Please, if there’s anything else I can do…”

Dean cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. The thought made Y/N want to laugh; Dean Winchester? Uncomfortable because of a woman’s advances? She never thought she’d see the day.

“Thank you, Gert, “Y/N grinned. “We appreciate it–and we’re sorry for your loss.”

They said their goodbyes and headed out the front door, back down the sidewalk path. As soon as the door had closed and they knew Gert was no longer in ear shot, Sam and Y/N let out the laughter they had both been holding in.

Dean grimaced, a small pout over his lips. “God, I feel dirty.”

Unfortunately for him, this only made his brother and hunting friend laugh harder.

There was another victim’s sibling who had come forward to the police department requesting an investigation, but still so many newspaper clippings to attend to. Y/N headed to the home of the vic’s family to question them while Sam and Dean headed back to the abandoned shack they had decided to squat in to try and find a motive. The victims had to have a common denominator somewhere. They just weren’t quite sure where yet.

Y/N mulled over the conversation she had just had with the victim’s family. There had to be a connection somewhere, but why couldn’t she figure it out? As she walked along the bridge overlooking the water back towards Baby (she was still surprised, herself, that Dean had trusted her with his most prized possession), she heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Her eyes pulled from the wooden bridge below her feet and up towards the sky. It had become bleak and gray, puffy fog-like clouds had rolled in and covered the sun that had only been there moments before. Another low grumble sounded from the sky and Y/N’s eyebrows knitted together. That’s when her eyes saw it; it was clear as day.

On the horizon where the dark blue water met the now gray sky, a ship sailed forward. Lightning crashed against the gray of the sails that whipped in the wind of the oncoming storm. Y/N’s throat ran dry and her eyes widened in fear. Maybe this wasn’t the ship everyone had spoken of; maybe this was different.

But almost as soon as she had seen it, the ship suddenly vanished, taking the looming storm with it as the sky suddenly cleared and the thunder rolled out to sea.

Her heart pounded against her chest. She tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat. Her mind played games with her; had she really seen it? Or maybe she was imagining things from lack of sleep and her involvement in the case. She had nightmares about cases sometimes; maybe that was happening.

She fumbled with the car keys in her hand and hurried to the Impala. Y/N knew what she had seen, and she needed to get back to Sam and Dean now more than anything.

She barely knew what she was doing as she was driving. Her mind took over and her foot practically pressed through the gas pedal as she floored the Impala all the way back to the shack. If Dean could see her now, he would kill her.

She screeched the brakes and threw the car into park. She clambered out of Baby and took hurried, wobbly steps towards the shack. Her hands found the white door as she knocked three times hurriedly, and then three more times when no one answered.

Y/N heard the lock click and the door handle move and stepped back. Without realizing, her breathing had become heavy and her eyes had filled with tears. Sam stood behind the opened door, his face broke into concern when he noticed how upset she was.

He reached out to touch her arm, “Y/N, you okay?”

She hurried past him into the room where Dean stood, his brow also knitted together with worry and confusion. “What happened?”

“I-I…” she couldn’t get the words out and her throat ran dry again. “I saw it.” Her eyes darted between the two brothers. They still seemed confused. “The ship. I saw the ship.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and his eyes moved quickly to Dean. “Wait, you saw it? Like you actually saw it?” Dean seemed angry.

“Yes, I saw it and then it disappeared,” Y/N responded hesitantly. She was terrified. She knew they would be terrified now, too. Everyone else who had seen the ship had died. Her fate was now on the line.

Dean eyed Sam closely, but Sam remained just as tense as he had moments before. “Son of a bitch,” Dean breathed as he ran his hand over his face. “Y/N, we love you but we have to ask you something.” He seemed nervous approaching whatever he was about to ask.

Y/N looked between both of them quickly. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. All she could think about was that damn ship, what could they possibly need to ask her?

Sam pulled Y/N gently to sit down on the end of one of the beds in the room. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and watched him closely, her eyes still full of uncertainty and questions. “We…we found what the spirit’s motive is.” He started carefully. She looked back at Dean who now stood before her with his arms folded across his chest.

“And?” She urged him to continue, the pause in his voice almost unbearable as she tried to process why he sounded so cautious. A bundle of nerves tangled in the pit of her stomach; she had no idea what they were about to say or what it would potentially mean.

“The sailor who died,” Dean began, his eyes now on Sam before glancing back at Y/N. “He was hanged for treason.”

“Right, we knew that already,” Y/N looked between them once more. “Guys, I can’t take it anymore. What are you getting at?”

“He was hanged by his brother,” Sam quickly said as his eyes bore into hers with sympathy and compassion. “We’ve realized that the spirit is targeting people who have been involved with the death of one of their family members.”

There was a silence in the air that felt suffocating; Y/N suddenly found it nearly impossible to breathe. Her eyes pooled with tears of hurt and frustration. Her mind was filled with flashbacks to a time she never wanted to remember.

“Hey,” Sam whispered delicately, his hand suddenly on her hand. “It’s okay. Just talk to us, alright? We’ll figure this out.”

Y/N begged the tears not to fall. Once the lump in her throat felt under control, she found that both brothers were watching her intently. They needed her to explain.

“The brothers killed their dad for his inheritance,” Dean explained while she stole a few more moments to gather her thoughts. “So yeah, that was pretty screwed up. But Sheila–Sheila’s cousin was killed in a car accident. The accident was her fault, but it was still an accident. It doesn’t mean Sheila deserved to die.”

Y/N nodded with a grim smile at their attempt to make her feel better and took in a shaky breath. “It happened when the vamp nest raided my family’s home. It was after I had been hunting with Jeff and Lily, a vamp escaped when they raided my roommate’s nest–the one I was telling you about,” she looked at Sam. He nodded, urging her to continue. “Lily, Jeff and I got to my parents’ house as soon as we could. But they had already had enough time to attack my family. They…they turned…” her voice dropped off at the end as tears threatened to fall.

“It’s okay,” Sam rubbed her arm soothingly. Y/N brought her hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear that had slipped.

“They turned my dad,” she cracked. She officially broke and didn’t even try to fight it anymore. “There was nothing we could do; it was too late. I…I had to kill my own father.” Her body shook with sobs as her head fell into her hands. Sam instinctively pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her tightly, as if holding her so close would keep her body from shaking so badly.

Dean reached out to rub her back in a pacifying gesture. The boys exchanged a look over her head; they had one option, considering the body had been cremated after the sailor’s death. Without any other remains that they knew of, they had to move quickly with the only possible solution Sam had–to resurrect the sailor’s brother who murdered him and hope that would end things. There was little to go off on, but they had no time.

#supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #supernatural fanfic #supernatural ff #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #spn fanfic #spn ff #supernatural fan fiction #sam winchester fan fiction #spn fan fiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester fluff

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chaoticgeminate · 1 year

Text

Rainy Days

Pairing: Mr. Ben (SNL Skit) x f!Reader Rating: E (Thar be smut ahead) Word Count: 7.2k

Potential Warnings/Notes: Reader is coded to be between below average to average height and plus size, no other descriptors were used.

Summary: Your soul mark was a rain cloud shaped tattoo on your inner left wrist, hollow with little stars and mushrooms inside the cloud and small raindrops dotted down your arm turned into a little pool right before the bend of your elbow. By now there were plenty of self-proclaimed ‘experts’ who said you would meet your soulmate on a rainy night, that each raindrop was a day you would be near them but never actually talk to them.

Your soul mark was a rain cloud shaped tattoo on your inner left wrist, hollow with little stars and mushrooms inside the cloud and small raindrops dotted down your arm turned into a little pool right before the bend of your elbow. By now there were plenty of self-proclaimed ‘experts’ who said you would meet your soulmate on a rainy night, that each raindrop was a day you would be near them but never actually talk to them.

Those ‘experts’ basically told you what you already knew and tried to charge you money for it, the mushrooms were a bit of a throw -you did have to give one guy creative credit when he said there’d be a fungi fueled apocalypse and that you’d meet your soulmate after it happened- but ultimately it wasn’t actual help.

All your friends around your home town had been quick to drag you out on nights it rained because of your mark, to bars or the movies or whatever public space they could think of, places where you would see or encounter people. They would try to get you to wear short sleeve and sleeveless shirts under your jacket for the chance that your match would notice, and while you were happy they were so invested in your happiness it was exhausting.

Moving away from your home city had been a bid for freedom in more ways than one, no longer under pressure to meet your person and no longer the only unmatched person in the group, the new acquaintances you had made through your new office were very much more your speed in regards to your marks and soulmate meetings in general. Escaping the corporate rat race for a private tech firm had been the best move you made, even if you’d end up fulfilling your duties on site at whatever contract location you had been assigned to and not around your other tech associates.

The general philosophy was: When you met them was when you met them, rushing to find them was only going to lead to unnecessary disappointment.

Which was why you were currently spending today’s rainy evening in a secluded bookshop with a lovely ambiance, the smell of paper and the soft sound of pages turning paired with the soft lighting gave it a magical feel. It was one of the only 24/7 bookstores you ever heard of, the owner Kathleen and her partner Louise were one of the cutest soulmate pairs you had met. You felt safe and warm, cozy as the pavement outside shimmered from the glow of the streetlights, and more importantly alone.

You were finally given an assignment at work so you’d promised to keep in touch with Bryn and the others at the office despite your assignment and then decided you needed some time alone.

Currently hidden in the corner of the shelves well out of sight, scouring the spines to track down the book on a research topic -the key differences between bacteria, fungi, and viruses- which you knew they had, you realized belatedly it was on the shelves above you and exhaled before grabbing one of the stools that were kept folded between the wooden bookshelves for people that were gravitationally challenged like you were.

Anyone that called you short could get stuffed.

Plus, the book wasn’t exactly on like a higher shelf near the middle, it was up there, and your exhale of irritation was soft as you scaled the stool to peruse the upper shelves. Humming in victory when you managed to find it, pulling the stout volume from between its neighbors and placing it into the tote style shopping bag over your shoulder, and when you tucked the stool away you began to meander to look for something to read for fun too.

There was someone at the register, all you could see was their broad back, the blue dress shirt was pulled pretty tightly and tapered into a fairly narrow waist; a cute little butt in black slacks and the brown belt to match his leather shoes, but you averted your eyes quickly when Louise caught you looking. Hurrying to hide behind the shelves because there was no way in hell you could come out of hiding until he was gone now, no doubt Louise had tattled since he loved to meddle.

Finding two fiction novels, one high fantasy and the other sci-fi, you decided that you had spent enough time and that he should be gone after what felt like ages. The door had opened and closed a few times, all you needed to do was get your books and go home. Rounding the corner with far more confidence than you felt you very nearly stopped dead in your tracks, the man was sitting in the reading area with his book open, and now you could see the cute patchy beard peppered with grays just like his dark curls.

He was fucking hot.

You hated that his eyes shot up to the sound of your books falling out of your hands, thankfully he hadn’t caught you staring because the second you fumbled the books you’d already diverted your attention -mostly- to try and catch them. Overwhelmed by the humiliation risk, since you were used to being surrounded by people on nights like this not easy to be singled out, your eyes began to water slightly.

“Hey are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

Those massive hands of his held all of your chosen books so easily in one of them, his brown eyes were soulful and soft, and his lower lip had the cutest little divot that you wanted to kiss.

“Oh, uh, ‘m just awkward and clumsy. Kind of, a uh, volatile combination for things like this.” Your awkward laugh tacked onto the end faded, taking your books from him as you both stood up, and you imagined that this was when he excused himself to get away from you. Instead of walking away from you he steadied your elbows and smiled, it made the hair on your arms stand up and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I think you just need to get lost in a good book, let me buy you a tea since it’s still raining out there. I’m Benjamin Morales, but everyone just calls me Ben.”

You relented and sat with him at his table after introducing yourself and giving him your drink order, staring at the book he had open on the table with a soft smile. Constellations and Cosmos was a book you had a copy of on your shelf at home, a sort of ‘dummy’s guide to the universe’ style book, and you realized he had tests sitting on the table.

“You’re a teacher?”

“Yeah, I work at St. Lawrence High School, it’s hard sometimes but the kids are good even if they use a lot of lingo that I don’t always understand.”

He laughed when you nodded, your nieces and nephews did that and it was a struggle to keep up, you at least could ask them to translate it into “Millennial” for you though.

“I told my nieces and nephews to make an official translation guide, that they’d get rich really quickly off of it.”

“They would! That’s a genius idea, I’d buy the first copy.”

Both of you shared a laugh and you couldn’t help but glance at his arms, the long sleeve shirt hid what you were looking for unfortunately and there was no way you were going to ask him to roll his sleeves up. But you felt a very… intense feeling about him; like he was magnetic to a degree that was almost distracting.

“So, St. Lawrence? I, uh, start there in two days. Not as a teacher but, like, I’ll be a part of the tech team. PR, internet security, that sort of thing.”

“That’s excellent, they want me to do a seminar on appropriate use of devices and I could use someone to help me figure it out.”

You couldn’t stop the way your brows furrowed at his clear discomfort.

“You mean like not using the school wi-fi or computers to try and access porn or download potential viruses and malware?”

He hummed and grabbed his phone, pulling something up, and you blinked at the sudden shiny video of him on TikTok. You hated that you memorized the creator’s name, it wasn’t fair to him, but the video was honestly pretty decent for it being mashed up clips of moments when he was in class.

“Yes, but also these. They’ve been making thousands of these fancam videos, they’re everywhere! So, basically, the school wants to blanket ban all of it, they’re making a rule not to film the staff since they’ve just added more camera coverage to the entire building.”

“You can report the existing fancams to TikTok, that you’re in them without your consent, they’ll get taken down.”

He looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll all just stop making them but I can help you at least try and clean up how many there are.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“Of course, Ben, let me help you.”

Spending time over tea reporting fancams of a cute teacher you’d be working with soon wasn’t what you imagined happening tonight but you wouldn’t complain, not when you had great company and a guy that you thought was genuinely sweet. Someone who, even if he wasn’t your soulmate, you could be happy with if he was single too.

“Did you hear?! Everyone saw Mr. Ben and Ms. Jenny out together at the mall, there’s no way they aren’t soulmates.”

It was inescapable, inevitable even, hearing it day in and day out.

“I heard Mr. Ben and Ms. Jenny are planning on getting married and having a honeymoon in Columbia.”

Rumors in a high school were very normal but recently these had been getting on your nerves, it wasn’t even the students’ fault or anyone’s really, just your own brain being dumb and making up things that clearly weren’t there. Ben had greeted you happily when you’d reported for your first day, going around and introducing yourself to the rest of the staff since your first order of business was to match faces to names as best you could.

Ben had given up reorganizing his classroom to follow you around and help you feel welcome with the other teachers, including the aforementioned Ms. Jenny, and you’d been forced to watch him tease the other woman about the posters on her walls that she’d been forced to put up over the fancam thing. As you’d expected the student body had been a mess after the first day seminar where the new rule against recording staff was announced, which meant that instead of making fancams they were now just doing what kids always did and playing the year-long telephone game.

Two weeks into the year and already you’d heard that the two were secretly married, getting married, or dating along with where they planned to go for their honeymoon. Honestly you wanted to ask them if they were paying for some of these events because traveling to all of these places on a teacher’s salary? In this economy? Absolutely not.

Kieran snorted softly beside you, the pair of you were walking around getting photos to put up on the school website for the “welcome back” article, his eyes on the pack of girls that had just disappeared into the girls room and delivered the latest rumor for the rumor mill of Mr. Ben and Ms. Jenny.

“What?” His eyes rolled skyward before he stopped to snap a photo of the main office, the bullet proof glass windows that still allowed the secretaries to look out were new along with the mechanical locks, but you understood the reasoning. All of the classrooms had tighter security features in this day and age, it was… depressing.

“I can’t believe we used to act this way too, kids are definitely creative.” He snapped a photo of the closed door of the Earth Sciences classroom, angling his body enough to get Luis and his students in the frame.

“What the rumors? I mean, Ben and Jenny do flirt a lot.” As you lifted your own camera, crouching just a bit to get a better shot of Jiho pulling her whisk out of the bowl and just the top of the student’s heads, you could hear Kieran stifle another soft laugh.

“You and I flirt a lot too, don’t mean we’re a thing.” He had a point and you rolled your shoulders in a shrug, snapping your photo right as Jiho turned her whisk to showcase the shine of the glossy batter as it ribboned off the utensil. Kieran went to go upstairs next, pointing to Ben’s open door, and you felt your face warm as the man walked right past it so you’d have to get the picture inside. Ben was animated as ever with his lectures and you crouched lower and snapped a few photos to get a good angle of the students taking notes.

Most of them were staring at him dreamily so you had tried to hide as much of that as you could, all it would take was one parent not liking the way the image looked and trying to report him for something stupid, it was why you went out of your way to keep faces out of your shots.

When your shoe squeaked loudly while you were getting up you were greeted by a surprised Ben who sheepishly closed his classroom door, it was a rule that some of the teachers struggled with still, and Kieran puckered his lips and made kissy faces at you when you rejoined him. Your nose wrinkled and you shoved him lightly, earning another laugh, before the two of you got back to work.

The cameras were always on and always being monitored now, after all, and while you were both on the cyber side of the security team the trained security officers hired to monitor the cameras weren’t afraid to be pricks whenever they felt like it.

“That’s why you don’t like it, you have a crush. You should tell him, the actual chances of meeting your soulmate are really low odds.”

Kieran glanced at your arm again, he’d seen your soul mark already, and you knew that he had a point; his soulmate was passed already, his tattoo nothing more than scar tissue now, and he’d spent a long-time turning people down because he’d wanted to meet the one.

“Well, I would need to know if he at least likes me back enough to give me a chance, it doesn’t help that he flirts with Jenny all the time.” You took pictures of the banners and posters about the school’s updated security measures, and hated that you were so twisted up over this. You should just do the adult thing, you knew, and invite him out somewhere. You were a modern woman and more than capable of asking a man out on a date, but something told you that Ben was… he’d be all encompassing.

The magnetic feeling you got when you were around him told you enough, that he’d be impossible to let go of, you were afraid of when affection would become love; that it would change you into someone possessive and toxic because you would never want to have a reason to walk away. You saw it in your family plenty of times, aunts and uncles turning aggressively jealous, your own parents were a brand of toxic that left a sour note in your life and you were terrified you’d inherited that behavior.

Dating and marrying outside of your soulmate was difficult, because what were you supposed to do if your someone met The One other than be happy for them?

Kieran patted your back gently and followed you down the next hall, changing the conversation for your sake.

“You going to the football game tonight?”

Ben’s voice interrupted your quiet, the school webpage backend code currently up on your monitor as you worked to change up a few of the links for the newsletter page, everyone else was already gone since the first football game of the season was a big deal here. Ben was leaning on the door way with his coat on already, signifying he was headed out, and you shrugged in response. You had almost gone to invite him yourself when you’d spotted him and Jenny talking about saving each other a seat on the bleachers, choosing to just walk away instead of look like an idiot when it was obvious that was a date plan.

“I don’t really know, probably not, reliving my own marching band days isn’t really something I’m keen on doing.” You hadn’t meant to confess that much but just outright saying no felt like a coward move, a chair was pulled out beside yours and Ben sat down with an amused look on his face that made your own face warm up.

“Marching band? You? Wait let me guess, you played… tuba?”

“Nope.”

Your keys clacked away as you modified the first of five links, pasting in the paragraph of text you’d written to go with the new link.

“Trumpet?”

“Nah-uh.”

He hummed loudly, contemplating, and you nearly choked when he took your right hand to look at it carefully. Running his fingertips over your skin softly, inspecting your palm like it told all your secrets.

“Saxophone?”

“Strike three, Ben, you’re out.”

If he caught the airiness in your tone he didn’t make a notice of it, you were almost breathless from the way he was still just gliding his fingertips along your skin. When he brushed the sleeve of your cardigan, near your soul mark, you flinched slightly and it was enough for him to let go. He must’ve seen the very top curve of the cloud on your skin, his lips parting to ask, and you pulled your arm away to finish up what you were doing.

“I played clarinet, saxophone wasn’t so far off.”

Ben huffed softly at your very obvious intent to avoid talking about what he’d gotten a peek of but he indulged this time.

“That means you’re good with your hands, huh?” He smirked and you knew he meant that double entendre, making your entire body ignite under the way his dark eyes met yours. It was intense and you felt like the oxygen in the room had thinned out or something, but as you finished and saved the new data for the website you glanced at him again.

You got up and smirked, grabbing you jacket and bag, before reaching out and ruffling his curls gently.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Ben’s face erupted into a flush and he didn’t follow you out, too busy gaping at your back, a thrill of victory rippled through you for being the one to fluster him this time. Especially with his date with Jenny soon, the fact that he even flirted with you while planning a date actually made you wonder if she knew that he was doing this behind her back. As you got into your car you made a snap decision to show up to the game, if only to tell Jenny that Ben was flirting behind her back.

It wasn’t actually cheating, you hadn’t kissed him or anything, but you didn’t know if you were the first or if she might consider flirting as cheating. You tossed together a quick light meal, it was nostalgic as hell but you kind of wanted a concession stand dinner, and picked a warmer outfit for the weather. September wasn’t too chilly at night but you didn’t want to wear a heavy jacket, it would be more comfortable to just layer up.

The bleachers were packed with parents and teachers already, the football team was stretching and getting ready as the other school’s marching band got ready for the opening field show, and you spotted Kieran and Jackie waving at you. Striding up to where they were sitting, plopping down beside Jackie, you ignored the way she leaned into her soulmate Anna’s side and pointed out two of the players as students that had tried to buy their way onto the front of the school newsletter.

“Surprised you came out, didn’t think you liked high school football.”

“I was a marching band kid, lots of memories.”

As the other team started playing, a marching band adaptation of movie soundtrack hits with their choreography being something relating to the corresponding movie, you couldn’t help but feel wistful for a minute. A smile settled on your face, just being out here in the crisp September air again, smelling concession stand hot chocolate and hot dogs, brought you back to your teen years.

“Oh? Any good memories?”

Kieran looked genuinely curious and you hummed lightly.

“Well, we did competition marching band, so I got to attend statewide contests; I hated trying to get changed on the bus, we had to wear long johns under our clothes so that we could stay warm and not end up showing too much. But I think the best memory was getting a first kiss under the bleachers from my crush, a cheerleader, but it didn’t work out obviously; she found her soulmate during Festival Disney in our Junior year. I avoided dating, after that, because I just… I got scared of the idea that I’d fall hard and then they’d meet their person.”

“Trust me, I know exactly how you feel. I was that person who found my soulmate while I was with someone else. We’re sort of friends, it’s a hard situation.” Anna offered a pained smile at their confession, making you nod, and you could tell Jackie felt guilty and imagined it was because the ex was either in the area or worked at the school as a teacher.

“That why you’re afraid to fess up to Ben?” Jackie leaned on her hand and you huffed softly.

“Yea, that and I’m pretty sure Jenny wouldn’t like me poaching her boyfriend.”

Anna’s eyes widened but before she could say anything you heard your name, spotting Ben and Jenny waving along with a few other teachers following them up.

“You made it, excellent, feels good to be back right?” Ben’s sunny smile looked somehow more vibrant under the intense lighting, this early in the year it wasn’t too dark yet but it would be soon, and you hated that Kieran had to nudge you to snap you out of your little trance. Nodding frantically, to avoid looking like an idiot, it was all you could do to not leave when Jenny sat down and Ben claimed the seat beside her.

Larry, Micah, Luis, and Jiho sat somewhere around you so that the staff was mostly together; parents began piling in as the school marching band walked under the bleachers to get to their seats on the other side, and the announcers began to get things rolling. One of Anna’s senior sopranos performed the National Anthem, leading to thunderous applause, and you let yourself sink into the game rather than focusing on the fact that Ben could turn his head to look at you at any time.

Passing out praise to the band members for their halftime show, while heading to the stand to get yourself a hot chocolate and something to eat, you felt the hand slide into yours and blinked as Ben stepped up beside you.

“Sorry, didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.” His hand was warm in yours, your heartbeat starting to thunder slightly, and you noticed the way several students whipped their heads around to look at the two of you.

“How’re you going to do this when our hands are full?”

“Actually, before we go back I was hoping I could talk to you, privately?” When you nodded he led you away from the stand, just off the side but mostly out of sight by anyone since there was freezer truck for the extra food. You felt that stirring in your heart, being alone like this, and hoped you didn’t look like you were going to pass out.

“So, uh, what’s up Ben?”

He squared his shoulders and squeezed your hand, looking a little lost, before finally he seemed to just work up all the nerves he had.

“I really, really, like you and was hoping that maybe since this can’t be a first date you’d let me take you out? The bookshop café is pretty nice?”

He was asking you out, on a date, while he was… on a date? You weren’t used to getting things about people like him wrong, he’d seemed so genuinely kind, it was almost a slap in the face if you had to be honest with yourself.

“Your girlfriend won’t mind? I’m not a unicorn that’s willing to do a three way.”

That had to be it, he and Jenny wanted a third so they’d decided to try and convince you to be that person, you’d been baited on dating apps hundreds of times by a possible night out with someone only to find out there was a partner involved. Ben’s shocked face, entirely confused, was almost believable.

“Girlfriend? What are you talking about, I’m single.”

“So you didn’t invite Jenny to the game on a date, promising to save her a seat like the dutiful boyfriend you are? I hear the kids talk, Ben, you’re always with her even though you flirt with me and it’s really not cool. I don’t want to be the butt of a joke, okay? I won’t tell anyone about this I just-“

“Jenny isn’t my girlfriend.” His voice dropped into a low pitch, there was frustration on his face but not aimed at you -how you could tell you didn’t know, you just could- and Ben sighed so loudly that you almost expected students to show up with cameras any second. The fancams hadn’t stopped but they had slowed down, especially with you and Ben reporting them whenever you came across any, you’d been in a couple of them too.

Feeling vulnerable, defensive, you crossed your arms and waited for his explanation.

“I’m serious, her soulmate Breanna couldn’t make it tonight since she works til midnight, Jenny is my best friend but there’s nothing romantic between us. I’ve been with her asking advice to try and ask you out, actually, because you never- sometimes you flirt back but then you’ll ice me out.”

He looked just as vulnerable as you felt, grabbing his phone and showing you Jenny’s social media with Breanna and even letting you see their text history, it was literally him asking about advice on flowers and if he should get a restaurant reservation or just wing it.

“Ben-“

“I know it’s hard to date someone that isn’t your soulmate but can we try? Please?”

Before you could chicken out you were ripping off your flannel, ignoring his ‘hey woah’ as you rolled up the sleeve of your undershirt, and showed him the very obvious mark.

“Can’t you see, Ben? This isn’t a cute little soul mark that I can throw make up on and hide, this will always be here staring at me and you, other people couldn’t do it before and I’m so tired of being hurt. This mark always reminded people that someone else was out there-“

“Me. I’m right here.”

His four words stopped your tirade entirely as he rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, his matching mark staring back at you, making your entire body ignite like fireworks were going off under your skin. You felt the tears forming in your eyes, disbelief and relief and excitement, and Ben reached up to wipe them away; you couldn’t help but touch his mark, skating your fingers along the black lines, and his breath caught slightly at the contact. He tipped his head down toward yours and you closed the gap, gripping the jersey he’d worn tightly to hold him still as his arms wound around your body and pulled you closer.

You would have continued, you would have let him do whatever he wanted to you, if it weren’t for the throat clearing of a senior staff member who had come out to get more stuff from the cold truck. Ramon, the librarian, rolled his eyes and pointed to the parking lot.

“Hurry up, nobody noticed yet, before you two end up with even more fancams showing up on TokTok or whatever it is.”

Hiding your face in Ben’s chest, his own giggles above you making you laugh too, it was easy to grab your flannel and head for the parking lot. Now that the fuse had been lit you couldn’t stop it, wanting his hands on you this very second. Ben pressed you against your car, shamelessly caging you against the driver’s side door and you let him, one leg hiking up to pull him closer and his hands grabbing your ass to make you grind against him.

“Gonna- gonna have to stop before I fuck you against your car, sweetheart.”

“Yours or mine?”

His groan as you began mouthing at the long line of his neck made you double your efforts to find all his soft spots and Ben’s hand kneaded your ass in retaliation.

“My apartment isn’t soundproofed but I don’t care-“

“Mine, not ready to give your neighbors an audio show just yet. My house is pretty set back from the road and I have distance from the neighbors.”

Ben captured your mouth again and you felt the tears on his cheeks when you moved your hands to hold his face.

“I’m so happy that we found each other, sweetheart.”

“Me too, Ben, me too.”

He pulled away to get his car, entirely reluctant on both of your parts, but you knew the rumors would start if you had to bring him back on a Saturday to pick the vehicle up. Call it selfish but you wanted a little more time without the entire student body knowing about you and Ben, even if the truth would eventually get out. The drive to your place felt long, with you constantly checking the rearview to make sure Ben was still there, and as you pulled into your driveway the garage door opened and you parked on the left side like always.

Ben hesitated but pulled into the right when you pointed, the door closing behind his car, and he whistled when he shut and locked the car door.

“Fancy.”

“Former fortune five-hundred IT slave, more like, this was bought with my severance pay.” It had been a relief to get out and move to the smaller tech company, being contracted to work at the school was a bonus, and you had played it smart with your check to make sure you could cover yourself when needed. House bought out in full, car bought in cash, and a good chunk still left for home emergencies if they popped up.

Ben’s smile was fond, even with the heat burning in his eyes, and he cupped your cheeks to kiss you again.

“Should I apologize that my teacher’s salary is shit?”

“No, I know you teach because you’re passionate about it. That is far sexier to me than you making a lot of money.”

Ben chuckled and you led him out of the garage, giving him a tour of your place first, and you had to bite your lip because he recognized every art print on your walls and had given details about them that you didn’t know. It was so damn attractive how passionate he was about things and by the time you made it to your bedroom the stolen chaste kisses, the light touches, and the way he whispered facts about your art in your ear had you ready to get on your knees for this man.

“I didn’t know you knew that much about classic art, Ben.”

“Thought about being an art teacher, took classes about Art History in college, but I changed my mind and went for science instead.”

He hesitated in the doorway to your bedroom and cleared his throat gently.

“If you want me to stop, at any time, tell me. I mean it, if you aren’t enthusiastic or you just don’t feel it that won’t chase me off. I just want to learn more about you and be with you.” If you’d had any reservations before they were gone, you sat down on your bed and dropped the flannel to the floor without a care for where it landed.

“I am enthusiastically consenting to you getting naked and fucking me into this mattress, Ben.”

His eyes raked across your form, he’d left his leather jacket downstairs on the coat stand so he pulled his jersey over his head and tossed it aside leaving him in the white undershirt and his jeans. Stilling your grab for your placket and kissing you before getting down on his knees between your spread legs, pulling your socks off first and nuzzling the denim hugging your legs as his hands caressed the outside of your thighs and moved inward.

“Take your shirt off for me, sweetheart, slowly.”

Ben’s voice was liquid honey and you grabbed the back of your shirt collar, tugging at the back of the fabric and moving a little slower than usual so that your skin and bra were the show he wanted. The sound of his throaty groan made you feel sexy, even with the extra rolls you had that you often poked at in the mirror on your bad days, Ben surged up so fast that his knees cracked but neither of you paid it any mind as his legs pushed your thighs open so he could kiss you and his hand fumbled with the shirt trapping your arms.

The fabric hit the floor after a moment of struggling, his mouth never leaving yours, and he cupped the curve of your breasts in his hands before his thumbs swirled over your nipples and you arched into him. Ben let out a soft sound as your hands went right to his hair, sliding back to grab at his shirt, and he let you pull the white fabric off him fully. You were distracted by the sight of your shared soul mark on his skin, capturing his arm to kiss the mark, and his eyes fluttered closed before he let himself just press you into the mattress.

The weight of him over you, the feeling of the slight swell to his soft tummy, the way the curve of his nose felt against yours and his lips skating along your skin made gooseflesh erupt along your skin. You were leaking with how bad you wanted him, you could feel how wet you were, and every nerve ending felt like it was alive with sensation as he breathed you in.

“I want to do this slow; I really do, sweetheart.”

“You can have me any way you want me, Ben.”

He whimpered, whimpered, at your reply before dragging his mouth down your body; down your neck and across your collar bones, cataloguing every single spot that made you writhe for him, and when he mouthed at your nipples under the fabric of your bra your back arched into his mouth and your hips pressed into his body as his hands held your waist.

“Ben- fuck!”

Having his teeth pinch lightly through the fabric, the sharp sensation soothed by the wet of his tongue as he dampened the fabric, you couldn’t control the way your hips jumped or your mouth. You weren’t above begging for what you wanted, the fact that this was your soulmate only compounded the sensations, the desire to just be as close to him as physically possible was overwhelming to a near painful degree.

“Please- please Ben I need-“

“Tell me, sweetheart, tell me what you need.”

“I’m- I’m so wet, Ben, please I need you to make me come.”

His groan was musical and his hands tugged your jeans down your legs, spotting the way the fabric of your underwear was so messy that the crease of your thighs and the insides of your thighs were slick with your desire.

“Sweetheart.” Incredulous and awestruck, the word was a throaty rasp as he dragged his finger along the fabric covering you, and when you whimpered his name Ben pulled the fabric down your legs and pressed one finger against your entrance.

“I’ve got two condoms in my wallet, I’m clean though and I have my physical from last week on my phone, it’s been a while since I’ve dated.”

“Clean too, it’s been a while for me, I’m on birth control so you don’t have to use the condoms if you don’t want to.”

He stared at you, as if he were debating, and you had to admit you were surprised that he did in fact grab one of his condoms. When he caught your eyes following his hands as he emptied his pockets onto your night table, phone and keys joining his wallet, Ben winked and waved the condom with a hum.

“Statistically speaking the percentage is an almost guarantee that I won’t get you pregnant, but I’m not going to risk it. If you want, we can discuss a vasectomy for me sometime until we know for sure what the future looks like, if you wanted to go off birth control I mean.”

Him standing there, offering to get a vasectomy, holding a condom in his hand with your soul mark branded on his skin was probably the hottest thing you’d ever had happen in your life.

“Put that condom on and fuck me, Ben.”

Watching the way his eyes widened before he nodded, not looking away as you took your bra off, Ben grabbed a towel from your master bathroom when you went to get settled on the bed fully before he was stripping off his pants and boxer briefs in one go. You both had wanted to go slow but the sight of him, hard and leaking, made you practically gush; he had even grabbed you a damn towel and that consideration had you reaching for him as soon as the condom was on.

Ben smiled fondly but it melted to a look of bliss when he leaned down to kiss you and you grabbed a handful of his cute little butt to grind against him, dragging the length of him through your wetness, his mouth parting against yours before he shifted his knees just slightly and rocked against you with the intent for friction. You moaned when he brushed your clit, his body pressing tighter to drag along that spot, and Ben angled your face into the kiss while you lifted your legs to angle your hips.

“Feel so fucking good like this, sweetheart I’m not going to last-“

“Me either, please Ben don’t make me wait.”

It was slow, the way he pressed into you, the thickness of him was a burning stretch but you wanted it.

“Next time I’m going to make you come on my fingers, on my tongue, at least twice before I fill you up; gotta- gotta make sure it feels good for you.”

“It does- Ben it does feel good.”

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder as his hips slotted to yours, bending his knees and pushing your legs wider, and you stared up at him as he pulled himself upright to watch where he filled you with each thrust. Holding your arms in a backward hold so both of you could see your matched soul mark on the other’s skin.

The drag of him, the heft of him gliding against you with each in and out motion was drawing small gasps and sharp whines out of you as he whispered your name like a damn prayer; like he couldn’t get enough, like he couldn’t believe you were real. Ben dropped down to get closer to you, thrusts becoming a harsh grind of his hips as he kissed you deep, and the way his body was rubbing against your clit with each motion had you beginning to feel yourself fall.

“Ben-Ben~”

Your cry of his name was cut off into a loud moan as you came, hard, around him; the velvet clutch of your body trying to keep him inside of you as he worked you through your orgasm, his motions become a sharp humping motion.

“Fill me up Ben.”

He cried out your name loudly, it was so sexy to hear him the raspy call of your name as his hips stuttered, and you both just laid there for a moment breathing; the weight of him was comforting, the feel of his mouth against your neck made you turn your head, and he captured you mouth in a lazy kiss. You let him roll you over, so you were on top of him, and he nuzzled your forearm where your soul mark pulsed like a heartbeat.

The hooded eyes and natural pout of his lips made you lean down to kiss him, earning a soft smile, and you nuzzled your nose to his gently.

“Now will you say yes to a date?”

“I’ll say yes to all of the dates, Ben, if it’s you.”

His smile was soft, shy, and tender as he cupped your cheek and hummed.

“Even if its dorky science dates or museum days?”

“Absolutely. As long as you don’t mind botanical gardens and nature walks, or classes on things like pottery and cooking.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you that I’m a teacher but I’m a very attentive student.”

The tone absolutely implied his mind went elsewhere but you didn’t care, smirking fondly at his own raunchy smile, and you traced the shell of his ear with one of your fingers.

“I’ll have to make sure I help you study, got some things you don’t know yet that’ll be on the quiz.”

He laughed, and you laughed too, at the cheesy remarks.

“I think we should not do that, at least not until I retire, I cannot pop a boner in class because someone says quiz.”

He was still inside of you, still holding you close after just making you have an earth shattering orgasm, and now you two were cracking jokes. He was perfect for you.

“Well, we can’t have that at all. Just means we’ll have to come up with other sexy innuendos.”

“Or I can just tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve met and that I’ve had a crush since the bookshop.”

“I too started crushing on you at the bookshop.”

“I know, Louise told me you were staring at my butt.”

“It’s a cute butt.”

He rolled you to your side, on the towel still, so he could pull out to get cleaned up and you watched his back with a smile. Wolf whistling and earning a fondly exasperated look over his shoulder, your arm held in a way that let him see the mark so clearly on your skin, and Ben returned after cleaning himself and you up to pull you against him under the covers.

“Can I stay the weekend?”

“Not going to grab clothes?”

“Will I need them?”

“No, not really.”

All Fics Taglist: @haylzcyon @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @tauralmie @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry @all-the-way-down-here

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @aynsleywalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80 @emiemiemiii

#ben morales x f!reader #mr. ben snl x f!reader #snl sketch fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #chaoticwrites #cw smut #minors dni

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workingclasshistory · 1 year

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On this day, 8 February 1912 the San Diego Free Speech Fight began when a 5,000 strong march against a ban on public meetings was disrupted by police who made 41 arrests. The ban, like many such bans around the country at that time, were to try to stop the growth of the radical Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) union (content note: sexual violence). The struggle would see one of the earliest recorded uses of fire hoses being turned on protestors, frequent police beatings and shootings, and the use of hundreds of vigilantes who tortured hundreds of members and supporters of the IWW, and "disappeared" an unknown number. One participant, Rickety Stan, recalled that: "they was sure scared of littler agitators like me… a sheriff's man came with a whip and hit me over the face and punched me in the belly and threw me in jail… I couldn't ever have quit. What did beatings or jail matter compared to the class struggle?" One 65-year-old IWW member, Michael Hoey, was beaten to death by police, and another named Joseph Mikolasek, was shot and killed by officers. One local newspaper editor, of the Herald, who tried to support the workers was kidnapped, threatened with lynching and expelled from the town. Whereas the Tribune newspaper endorsed lynching the workers: "Hanging is none to good for them and they would be much better dead". One anarchist, Ben Reitman, who travelled to support the workers, was kidnapped, violently beaten, tortured and and sexually assaulted by vigilantes, after which he was reportedly never the same. A local paper celebrated his sadistic torture and assault, and how it drove him from the city. Despite the intense violence, workers kept defying the law and the vigilantes and eventually succeeded in defeating the ban on public meetings. Similar victories were repeated up and down the country. Learn more about the IWW in this book: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/all/products/rebel-voices-an-iww-anthology Pictured: An illegal street... https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.296224173896073/2205349422983529/?type=3

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re-dracula · 1 year

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Bonus 2: Victorian Class and Gender

Hannah sits down with Dr. Jen Sudgen to discuss the ideals Victorian Class and Gender, and how they come across in Dracula. This interview contains spoilers for Dracula (and we're talking last-page-of-the-book spoilers!), so if that's something you care about you should save this bonus for later. This episode was hosted by Hannah Wright and edited by Tal Minear. The transcript was done by Rook Mogavero.

Transcript here.

Here are links to the various papers, articles, and media Dr. Sugden referenced:

"The Angel in the House" by Coventry Patmore

The Royal Family in 1846 by Franz Xaver Winterhalter

"Dracula and Women" by Carol Senf in the Cambridge Companion to Dracula

"The New Aspect of the Woman Question" by Sarah Grand

"What It Will Soon Come To" in Punch Magazine

"The New Woman" in Punch Magazine

"Passionate Female Literary Types" in Punch Magazine

Dr. Sugden's underrated Victorian fiction list: the works of Anthony Trollope, the works of Wilkie Collins, and Lady Audley's Secret

Here are audio dramas you should listen to:

Check out Victoriocity, a detective comedy podcast! It's set in even Greater London, 1887. In this vast metropolis, Inspector Archibald Fleet and journalist Clara Entwhistle investigate a murder, only to find themselves at the centre of a conspiracy of impossible proportions. You'll hear our beloved Jonathan Harker (Ben Galpin) in it!

Check out Fawx & Stallion, a comedy podcast about rivalry, friendship, fame, and occasionally about solving mysteries! It's set in London, 1889. When the residents of 221B Baker Street leave town for the weekend to solve one of their most famous cases, no one is left to clear a poor housekeeper’s name of a crime she didn’t commit. Well, no one except for their neighbors at 224B…

#re: dracula #bonus episode

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liz-allyn · 2 years

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heat of the moment, pt 6 - carpe diem (finale) [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: everything ends, eventually. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - “mystery spot”

words: 11.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw description of death by car accident, fire, drowning, asphyxiation, self h*rm, mass casualty event.

a/n - don't you hate it when stories just dump a ton of exposition in the last chapter? haha fuck

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

The sun had long set as you crouched down stealthily on a roof overlooking an industrial complex next to the Holland Tunnel. It was near the entrance on the New York side of the Hudson River, far from the dumpster you sought out.

After leaving Claire, you had met Peter across town and inspected the burned-out site tediously. There wasn’t much left behind, save for a few singed sheets of paper nearby. Shipping invoices for an address on the other side of Manhattan.

Alarms went off in your head at the perplexity of someone dumping their trash all the way over here. You were determined to follow this lead, and quickly.

Working against time, you were now in pursuit. You gazed out over the street below as you studied the tall, rectangular, art deco-style, brick structure. The exteriors looked repainted and somewhat modernized, part of ongoing renovations to the Holland Tunnel, you figured. Now at the heart of the tallest building, a 50-foot-wide clock face doubled the size of ‘Big Ben,’ with golden dials that added to the aesthetic.

The clock face leered maliciously at you, like a hungry dragon perched on a tower. Like the hands would come alive, and spring out sharp teeth that gobbled you up.

What a way to go.

The face stares down at you, knowingly, like a proverbial ‘Eye of Sauron,’ meeting you at the edge of Mordor. The minute hand lurches past 10:50 to 10:51, reminding you of its quicksilver nature.

You’d never made it past 10:30 PM before.

You’re deep behind enemy lines.

Wearing the Spider suit, Peter swung to your position, his feet landing on the roof as gently as a cat’s. He crouched down to your level, lifting his mask from his sweaty face.

“Okay, so something is definitely off with that building,” Peter whispered. “It’s using a ton of power. Way more than any New York City building should.” He noted your distant look and silence, hypnotized by the ominous feeling the clock gave you. He eyed you suspiciously, “Exactly what are we looking for here?”

You pursed your lips, observing the slow crawl of vehicle traffic clogging itself into the tunnel. You could see the lights of a construction crew near the tunnel entrance. You smelled the heavy fumes of semi trucks trickling in between passenger vehicles. You felt the wind chilling the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Something bad,” you replied grimly.

Peter stared at you incredulously, brow furrowed, waiting for further explanation. The humor was beginning to evaporate from his mood, a heavy tension settling in between you. No further explanation followed.

“Okay,” he declared, more firmly now. “We’re done here.”

That caught your attention. He reached for you and you flinched back. “No, wait, we can’t leave!”

“Honestly, this has gone on far enough,” Peter replied with a serious tone, his mocha eyes filled with concern. “You start talking about time loops at breakfast and then you throw muffins at me and ghost me for hours, you won’t answer any of my questions, you can’t just lay shit out like that and not explain yourself—”

“We have to get inside that building.”

“Why?!” he snapped, temper flaring. You knew his frustration was branching from his anxiety, and you had to find a way to diffuse it.

“Something inside that building is affecting your abilities!” you whispered harshly. You were also losing control. “Why don’t you want to find out what it is?”

A deep crease formed in his brow, stubbornness feeding indignation. “Tell me why. Why can’t we just go home right now? Tell me the truth!”

You pulled your eyes away, dropping them to the ground. “We can’t go home, Peter,” you firmly stated, and it sounds like you’re admonishing a child.

“Tell me why right now, or I throw you over my shoulder—”

“Because I never make it back home alive!” you blurted out.

He blinks at you. Eyes narrow. Observes you. Brow furrows. Head tilts. Pupils go wide. Face pales. Heart rate increases.

“What do yo—” the words trickle off, shrinking away as they leave his mouth. With them, they take the air from his lungs. His shoulders tense. “What does that— what are you talkin’ about? What’re you sayin’?” On reflex, he grasps at your arms. His face searches yours, betrayed.

You reach out for him, gripping his shoulders. It begins to ground him, but doesn’t release the building pressure. You steady yourself. Meet him in his own time.

“Peter, listen,” you softly cooed, “it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

He exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. His eyes looked like he was torn between the urge to argue, and the need to hold you.

He swallowed hard, his fingers finding yours, gripping your hands like he used to hold his stuffed animals. “I don’t under—”

“What I’m about to say is going to freak you out, but we need to be on the same page about this,” you slowly explained. “Every day for the last... I don’t know how many... several-thousand Tuesdays... I wake up. And it’s Tuesday. And then, somehow, it ends with me dying. And then I wake up—and it’s Tuesday again.”

He stares. Eyes glazing black.

“Stay with me, Pete,” you pleaded, your hands cupping his cheeks. “I think whatever is causing this to happen is connected to something in that building.”

“No,” Peter said. Darkness enveloped his voice. “You’re not gonna die. Don’t say that.” He shook his head. An unsettling firmness crept into his tone.

“I have this feeling,” you explained, “that it’s all connected. The time loop. Your abilities not working right. The dying—”

“You’re not gonna die,” he asserted, with even more resolve.

You pursed your lips, falling silent. For a moment, you let yourself drown in the dark pools of his gaze. They’re like thick, dark storm clouds. Heavy blackness crackling with bolts of lightning. You read his face carefully, choosing your words delicately.

“I believe you,” you answered, finally. It was the truth. He studied your reaction too, and tension released from his shoulders slightly. “But we have to get into that building.”

He nodded once, swallowing back his anxiety, then took you by the shoulders. “But you’re not going in there. You’re staying put.”

You rolled your eyes. “Peter, we don’t have time for this!”

He shook his head, jaw firmly set. “I’m not doing this again.” He wasn't talking about last Tuesday.

“I am not Gwen,” your voice bellowed.

He went silent at her name, still dumbstruck by shame and grief. It was like you slapped him. He dropped his eyes to his feet, sorrow building steadily.

You softened your expression and your tone. “You aren’t the ‘you’ from then, either.”

The sharp, smooth line of his jaw quivered for just a moment, and you brushed your fingers along the freckles there. His lashes fluttered closed at the gesture.

“I know that you’re afraid of what you’ll lose,” you whispered, featherlike. Like telling a secret. “I know you think it’ll break you. But I’ve seen the best and the worst of you, Peter Parker.”

He looked up at you, and the utter endearment on your face was enough to take his breath away. It brought tears to his eyes.

“I believe in you,” you stated. As certain as the sky is blue. “Every day. Forever. Even if you don’t believe in yourself. So please. Believe in me.”

Peter grimaced, fear piercing his chest. He pushed it down. He nodded. “Always.”

You held his gaze lovingly. Despite your predicament, you strangely wished you could freeze the moment.

“Okay,” you smirked, eyes bright. “Let’s do this. Remember, there’s no fate but what we make, right?”

You moved to stand, but he reached out and grabbed you. “Wait.” You glanced back at him, catching the puzzled look on his face. “When did you see Terminator?”

You quirked a brow, teasingly mysterious in your reply. “I’m a sci-fi nerd, now. What about it?”

11:14 PM

After careful effort, and more minutes than you wanted to lose, you made it inside to find your suspicions were correct.

You were standing inside of a control room next to two knocked out, webbed-up security guards. You closely studied a vast array of CCTV monitors above you. Your boyfriend was hunched over a screen, listening intently to the conversations of plant workers—some of which he’d recognized as former science division employees of Oscorp. You recognized some of them too, from Alchemax. And Horizon Labs. And Roxxon.

“Okay,” you asked, glancing warily at the time. “Do we have any idea why these guys are all in this building? Was there a mad scientist convention or something?”

“Is it weird that I’m low-key, kinda offended that I didn’t even get an invite?” Peter grumbled, shaking his masked head bitterly. “Am I weird for thinking that? Is that bad?”

You gave him an incredulous glare. “I’m sure it’s in your spam folder.”

“It’s fine,” Peter flatly declared. It wasn’t fine.

He uncrossed his arms to lean his weight on his palms, staring at one of the screens intently. “Here,” he noted, calling your attention to a computer screen visible on the security camera. “These are plans. They’re building something. We need to find out what.”

11:22 PM

Deeper inside the facility, you hid behind the door of a windowless office. Your palms were clammy, and sweat poured out of you. It wasn’t just the tension. It was the heat. A massive source of energy, Peter had explained, from some part of the building.

A bespectacled, bird-like, middle-aged man wearing a lab coat entered the office. You slammed the door behind him. Startled, he turned around and spotted you, a mix of confusion and growing alarm. He opened his mouth to yell just as two red gloves reached down around his head and clamped his jaw shut.

You looked up at Spider-Man, dropping from his hiding place on the ceiling, as he muffled the screams of the captive. The scientist flailed uselessly in Peter’s arms, overcome with panic. You shuddered as you noted Spider-Man’s grip was little a rougher than normal.

“Spidey,” you soft admonished. He looked up at you and spotted the timid anxiety in your eyes. He took the hint.

Peter turned the captive scientist around and sat him down in his own desk chair. With a couple of webs he was bound to the fake leather padding.

The man gaped up through wire-rimmed glasses at Spider-Man’s towering frame, his eyes wide with terror. Without being prompted, you reached into the pockets of the lab coat, snatching his ID badge off its lanyard. You pocketed several keys, metal and magnetic. You flipped through his wallet for clues.

Spider-Man kicked his leg up on the seat of the captive’s chair, leaning on his own thigh crassly. “Hey, buddy!” the vigilante greeted with a bright, cheery smile as you searched him.

You glanced at the name on the scientist’s ID badge. “Joseph,” you supplied.

“Hey, Joe!” Spider-Man corrected. Despite the chipper tone, the muscles in his neck were pulled taught. He looked like a dog about to snap. “Whatcha buildin’ under here?”

Your boyfriend released the scientist’s mouth. His wild eyes darted anxiously between the two of you. ‘Joe’ attempted to calm himself down, stuttering as he sought out what’s left of his courage.

“Do you have any idea where you are?” he spat ferociously. “You two are screwed! You’re not getting outta here. You’re in way over your heads! I’m not telling you anything! You can’t make me talk—”

A web slapped over Joe’s mouth, gagging him. You shot your boyfriend an impatient glare. “We don’t have time for this,” you warned him.

Spider-Man kept his attention on his captive, shrugging his shoulders. “You heard the lady,” he said, almost apologetically. Peter dropped his foot from the chair and sidled up to the man, gripping his hair and yanking his head back. You flinched as you watched him brandish a blade and swipe at the webbing across the man’s mouth with cobra-like quickness. He sliced an opening in the gag, allowing his captive to breathe.

“Since we’re a little short on time, we’re gonna cut to the chase, yeah?” he explained, his pleasant-sounding demeanor coming short of masking the malice in his tone. “I’m Spider-Man. You’re a bad guy. And you caught me on a really weird day. So instead of hanging you by your ankles off the edge of a high-rise, or tossing you off the Statue of Liberty, or webbing you up over Fifth Avenue in nothin’ but your tighty-whities, I’m gonna fast-forward.”

The vigilante tilted his head down until he was directly in front of Joe’s face, lowering his voice to a serpent’s hiss. “You’re going to tell me what you’re building here, or I’ll end you. Simple as that.”

You flicked your eyes to Spider-Man, shifting your weight between your feet. You squeezed your eyes closed, pushing images of Peter’s rage from your anxious thoughts.

“Keep in mind, I can hear your heart beat,” your boyfriend sneered, looming over his captive. “I can tell what it sounds like if you’re lying. I can hear my own heart, too. Wanna know what it sounds like right now?”

The scientist stared back blankly as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, eyes as wide as saucers.

Spider-Man tilted his head, lowering the opaque lenses of his mask closer. “Murder.”

The single word hung in the air like the toll of a bell, or the echoing crack of thunder. Thick black toxic smoke that threatened to choke them. Your stomach twisted, recognizing that his teasing savagery was more than simple posturing. You’d seen him like this before. You had experience in keeping an eye on the pressure gauge.

You glanced at the clock on Joe’s desk.

11:24 PM

“Please,” you blurted out, unsure to whom you were speaking. Maybe to anyone who would listen.

“Here it is,” Spider-Man declared. “The one and only time I’m gonna ask. What supervillain’s new gadget are you building here?”

The quivering man stared at him, dumbstruck, slowly turning so white he’d eventually camouflage into the walls. “You-you got this all wrong...” he stuttered.

“How so?” Spider-Man didn’t miss a beat. “Details, Joe.”

“...Claire?”

Your surprised tone snapped both men's attention back to you. You stood at the scientist’s desk, eyes fixed on a photo frame. You picked it up, gazing down at the faces in shock.

Joe’s demeanor changed instantly. Any sense of bravado he had evaporated. “That’s my daughter’s name,” he gulped, pulse thumping in his throat. “How-how do you know my daughter’s name?”

You stared down at the photo of your beautiful Grim Reaper, flanked by a woman you had come to recognize as her mother and the man currently webbed to a chair. The photo was taken on a bright sunny day, Yankee Stadium in the background. Claire looked much younger than she did now, as did both of her parents. Not just younger—brighter. More hopeful. More alive.

Your mouth hung open as you glanced up at the captive. “Joseph Rivers? You’re Claire’s father?”

Dr. Rivers looked up at Spider-Man, his face going pale. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “She doesn’t ha-have anything to-to do with this mess. Leave her out of this. I beg you.”

Peter met your eyes, and although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was confused. You didn’t tell him about Claire today, or any of the times she’d tried to kill herself.

Your gaze dropped down to Dr. Rivers. “Do you have any idea what your daughter’s been doing today?”

He looked perplexed. “I... I—”

“Do you know she tried to commit suicide?” you snapped, marching up to his chair. He flinched at the information, a lightning bolt shooting to his heart. You crossed your arms, glaring down at him indignantly. “And where were you?”

You know it’s judgmental. You know it’s unfair. But this was Claire. And Tuesday had given you enough insight into her life to feel like defensive, after everything.

“I—” Rivers was still opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “I don’t... They don’t let us have our phones—I mean, I-I knew she had troubles before...” His throat tightened, chest constricting, “Is-is she okay?” He looked heartbroken. Terrified. You saw Peter’s shoulders slump, head turning away.

You watched Rivers through narrowed lids, but you couldn’t deny the agony in his question. The fear in his face. “For now,” you answered. “Because I saved her. But she needs real help.” You leveled your gaze. “And so do we, Mr. Rivers.”

Rivers looked back up at Spider-Man, still observing the side of his mask. The masked vigilante was unable to meet his gaze. He looked over at you again, reading your resolve. His eyes dropped to the photo frame in your hands, his chin clenching. Eyes also filled with shame.

“It’s a weapon,” Rivers declared. “They tell us it’s not, but I’m not stupid. We all know what it is.”

“What kind of weapon?” Peter asked, facing him again.

“You ever heard of Havana Sickness?” Rivers asked him. “Well, that was version one.”

Your eyes ping-ponged between the two scientists. “Can somebody translate?”

Peter explained, his gaze fixed on Rivers, as he provided you context. “Few years ago a group of diplomats started getting sick in Havana. Nausea, dizziness, ringing in the ears—all the way up to sudden, unexplained pain and trouble with cognition. Nobody ever found out what caused it. Some people think it was all in their heads, others think it was some kind of staged attack.”

“A directed energy weapon,” Rivers revealed, his voice grave. “And now it’s been perfected. This one is far more advanced than anything that’s ever been built. Electromagnetic waves charged by plasma. Its power is unprecedented.”

“Sounds rad,” Peter snipped flatly. “Probably worth a pretty penny to the highest bidder. Speaking of which. Whose bankrolling this, Joey? Is it Fisk? Is it the Osbournes?”

Rivers let out a bitter laugh. “You’re joking, right?” He stared at you incredulously. “You think you’re dealing with some greasy, mob boss? Some corporate shenanigans?”

You and Peter glanced at each other.

“Look around you, kids!” Rivers spat. “We’re in a secret underground base underneath the Hudson River, for godssake. This whole operation is run by Uncle Sam. It’s the fucking C.I.A., you dimwits.”

You stared at him, stunned and silent.

Peter threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “I don’t believe it! Seriously?” He spun in a circle, hands landing on his head, then faced Rivers again, jabbing his finger in his face.

“Okay. Number one. Rude," he said, clipped. Just because I wasn’t invited to your little World of Warcraft campaign doesn’t make me an idiot, got that?” Your shot a withering look at the back of your boyfriend’s head.

“Second:” he continued, with a disgusted tone. “Billions of dollars and almost all of the greatest minds in the world and the G-Men are using this—for what—a new toy? What, did Santa not bring you guys enough guns for Christmas?!”

Rivers argued, “Technology like this would make nuclear war obsolete! It could stop any intercontinental ballistic missile—safely—miles above the Earth’s atmosphere.”

“Could also burst the eardrums of some unruly protestors,” Peter criticized with disdain. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the scientist suspiciously. “Destabilize a few unfriendly governments?”

“Burn the tiny hairs off a spider?” You asked, finally interrupting the quarrelling men. Rivers and Peter gave you a look.

You sighed, “This is exciting and all, but I can’t reiterate how much time for this shit I don’t have!” You glared at Rivers impatiently. “Congratulations, Doc. The weapon you’re building also tears a hole in the space-time continuum. Well done. Now would you please just tell us where it is, so we can pull the plug?”

The older man glanced back and forth between you. “You… can’t…?”

“It was a figure of speech, man,” Peter snapped at him. “She doesn’t actually think there’s a power cord—”

“No, what I mean is it’s already been built,” Dr. Rivers explained. “You’re too late. It’s on a truck leaving now.”

11:41 PM

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You’re certain of it.

And it may very well be the last thing you ever do.

You watch helplessly as the box truck carrying the Weapon of the Future is driven into the tunnel. Your boyfriend (who left you behind to stay put) is attached to the top of it, in an attempt to steal it.

You think on that again.

Your boyfriend, Spider-Man, is going to steal one of the most advanced weapons the world has ever known, from the C.I.A.

This is only the second stupidest thing he’s ever done. The top spot was recently awarded when he webbed you to Rivers’ desk and left you behind. For your safety.

As if you didn’t have your own pocket knife on you, to free yourself from the webbing.

You had run outside just to see the unmarked white truck entering the tunnel. There was no way of catching up to it on foot.

So. Here you are, contemplating the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.

You see a stationary police cruiser, brake lights on, engine running. Waiting in line to enter the tunnel. You recognize the single occupant in the front seat.

“Y’know, Cage,” you declare as you saunter up to the open drivers’ side window, “you really gotta stop working doubles.” The rookie officer flinched at the sound of your voice, turning towards you in utter confusion. “Just because your wife threw you out doesn’t mean you don’t need sleep.”

He gazed at you, jaw falling open, white as a ghost.

You reached forward and gripped the back of his head, slamming his nose into his own steering wheel.

He hissed in pain as you opened the drivers’ side door and reached down towards his belt. You unclipped his service arm pistol, pointing it at him. Like you’d done it 1,000 times before.

Officer Cage froze in horror, staring up at the barrel of his own gun, stunned at your speed and dexterity. Doing that never failed to give you a rush.

“Out,” you ordered.

Hands raised, he pulled himself out of his seat and stood awkwardly next to his car. You hopped in the drivers’ seat and flipped the switch to turn on the emergency lights.

Like you’d done it 1,000 times before.

Perplexed, Officer Cage watched you incredulously, as you leaned out of the window and tossed his weapon back at him.

The second it landed in his hands, he’d accidentally pulled the trigger. But no bullet was fired.

“I emptied it,” you explained.

He looked at you like you were a witch.

“Maybe spend some more time on the range first?” you offered gently, shifting the car into gear. “And maybe in some therapy, too?” You stepped on the gas pedal, leaving him in the dust.

You swerved, driving around the heavy congestion of vehicles, entering the tunnel. Sirens wailing.

11:43 PM

Peter held on tightly to the roof of the cargo hold as the truck drove around the traffic, allowed by the tunnel construction crew to pass. He honestly started to wonder if the tunnel was really under construction at all, or if it was all some elaborate hoax.

Maybe you were right, he thought. Maybe everything is connected and therefore nothing is nothing and we’re all pawns living in some sort of simulated plan.

“God, I really need to touch some grass,” he groaned through gritted teeth, as he ducked his head beneath the overhanging signs of the tunnel.

11:44 PM

You saw the truck ahead of you. You toggled the police car’s sirens, switching it to a piercer effect.

The short bursting yelps must have caught the driver’s attention, because you saw brake lights flash. Then, they turned off as the truck sped up. Your stomach sank.

“No, no...”

You could see the lanky limbs of your boyfriend flail as he struggled to get a better grip on the roof of the vehicle. You sighed, biting your lip with trepidation. The device wasn’t even on and already he was becoming less sticky. The truck dashed on, weaving around vehicles, disappearing from sight. You stepped on the gas and tried to catch up.

What you could not see, what Peter could not see, and—tragically— what the truck driver could not see, was the debris in the road.

A six-inch steel ratchet that had fallen off of one of the construction trucks.

For any speeding vehicle, running over it would’ve resulted in a missing hubcap and a bent rim.

For a 26-foot box truck weighing 15 tons, traveling at 67 miles per hour through a crowded construction zone, the result was catastrophic.

You watched, wide-eyed, as the truck jolted in front of you.

It was simple math.

Peter was knocked loose as the vehicle swerved like a serpentine from left to right, side-swiping vehicles on both sides.

Every variable locked firmly in place.

Spider-Man was thrown into the hood of a stalled vehicle. You screamed as you watched his body crush the windshield. You slammed on the brakes.

The unchanging constant. The outcome was inevitable.

Everything else that followed was like a choreographed dance.

A symphony written by fate. Every note falling into place, crescendoing to a deafening disaster.

The truck swerves. Pitches. Thrown off balance.

Road construction workers turn and shout.

Another truck is stopped in the path. The cargo filled with flammable gasses.

There’s a collision.

A spark. A bright light.

A shockwave.

11:47 PM

Outside the tunnel, Officer Cage pauses from his frantic shouts into his radio. He turns and sees a bright light shooting out of the entrance. The shockwave that follows jolts cars, bursts glass, sets off alarms, and moves the Earth beneath his feet.

The clockface of the Holland Tunnel ventilation tower is jarred, the hands jerking loose. The arms drop.

The time now says it’s 1:21. But it's wrong. Everything about this is so wrong.

There is no time left.

Cage turns pale as the tunnel entrance crumbles like a sandcastle, sealing all the vehicles inside.

Another burst of light erupts. This one from the middle of the river.

11:47 PM

You’re gripping the steering wheel, and then you’re upside down, slamming into the roof. You taste blood and glass and metal.

Everything is white. You reach up to shield your eyes, but you can’t.

The light is blinding, shooting through your flesh like an x-ray. You can see right through your hands, observing every bone, vein, and capillary.

Then.

Darkness.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

No.

“...Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant...”

No, no, no, I need more time!

“...The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

Your eyes pop open as you are viciously ripped away from the darkness. They burn instantly from the smoke.

Your senses are assaulted by the smell of blood and gasoline and salt water. Screams and sirens invade your ears.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

Your bleary eyes struggle to adjust to the shadows, dark shapes taking form. You see an orange flickering glow. Punctuated with flashes of red and blue. Flames. Voices call out. Echoing. Steady horn blasts. Car alarms shrieking. The shrill cacophony of dozens of personal safety alarms—PASS devices, as Tuesday had taught you—magnify as they bounce off the concrete.

There’s a roaring sound, too. Like a train passing.

A sheet of crushed glass blocks your view. It looks like ice and snow, like you could reach out and wipe it off the windshield.

You remember that you’re in the police car.

You’re on your chest. You know your ribs are broken. You’re used to the pain.

“Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant...”

Peter. You have to find Peter.

“The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You hate this fucking song.

You push yourself up, crawling over the inverted dashboard, pulling yourself along with bloody fingers. You kick the shattered windshield out, feeling the sharp heat of crushed glass cutting into your leg. It’s no matter. If you have air left in your lungs, you have to find Peter.

When you crawl out, you’re drenched in freezing water. Your feet slosh in it as it crawls up your ankles. You take a shaky breath, and immediately sputter. Your ribs are definitely broken. And the air burns your lungs when you breathe.

You look up, trying to get your bearings. Look around.

This is the worst, you think. This is the absolute worst.

But no one will ever have to take your word for it, you realize.

History will be more telling.

Around you, it’s pandemonium.

The lights in the tunnel have gone out, save for headlamps and flashing lights of work vehicles. The red and blue police lights from your overturned cruiser are among them. And there’s fire, all around you, at both ends of the tunnel. Pockets of blackness in between the bonfires.

It reminds you of war. Of war movies depicting the aftermath of the Blitz. Of grainy film footage of napalm swallowing a landscape, like somebody took the Sun and poured it out on a jungle.

The smell is awful and it makes you want to gag. Burnt rubber. Burnt hair.

Dozens of cars and trucks, some of them crumpled like empty soda cans, all of them burning thick pillars of black smoke. The smoke looms across the tunnel ceiling. You can’t even see the ceiling tiles. Above you, there’s a boiling sky of black clouds.

You hear the chorus of shouts. Shrill shrieks reverberating off the cement and tile. It sounds like people are being tortured. Like giant Grizzly bears must be ripping people apart. Disembodied voices screech for help, for God, for missing loved ones. You think you can hear an infant crying. Selfishly, you just want them to be quiet.

In the distance, the deep rumbling roar continues, like standing next to a jet engine. You also hear the echo of a synthesized keyboard riff, the wailing of an electric guitar. Asia rings out over the tinny squawk of car speakers from a battered minivan nearby.

Because of course it fucking would be.

Massive chunks of concrete and twisted steel litter the broken asphalt. The whole roadway is flooded. A steady icy current claws at your calves, threatening to push you off balance.

Immediately, you hear shrieks at your left, louder than the ones in the distance. You spot the figure of a man who has just woken up from the blast.

Awful timing on his part.

He’s engulfed in flames, burning alive. His lower half is pinned beneath an SUV. He looks like the squirming wick of a candle. The screams tear at your soul. You yank your eyes away. Your first instinct is to look for a rock to put him out of his misery. He’d thank you for it.

Another sound jars you, the crumbling collapse of a wall nearby. You hear several sharp pops. You struggle to see through the dark. Melted bodies clad in safety orange glow clothing are right beside you. The water crests over them.

You look up towards the popping noises. Ceiling tiles, you realize. Water shoots into the tunnel under the immense pressure.

You squint beyond the dark, your eyes stinging from the acid clouds. Through the smoke and shadow you can see a wall. It’s moving. Your heart nearly seizes as you connect it to the roaring sound.

It’s the sound of the Hudson River, pouring into the tunnel, waves crashing into the new underground cavern.

“Peter!” you shriek. Eyes darting around, remembering that you saw him fall. You turn around towards the opposite end of the tunnel. There’s nothing but rock and ash and burning metal behind you. And more screams, echoing in the dark.

The tunnel must have collapsed, you realize. You wonder how many cars were buried beneath the rubble. Could be hundreds.

Your heart slams in your chest. You wonder if Peter is buried among them.

“Peter?” you scream, more panicked.

Your voice cracks, and you know you’re not hoarse yet. You know it’s the carbon monoxide, the formaldehyde, the cyanide—the fatal cocktail of poison billowing around you. You can taste it in the air. You have minutes maybe.

It’s getting harder to see. You don’t want the darkness. The hellish chorus bouncing off of the cave of the tunnel. You’re struggling to hear his voice. You don’t want the quiet.

You hear your name. Like a ray of sunshine.

You hear it again. Your boyfriend’s voice rings out.

“Peter!” you call out to him.

In the shadows, a lanky figure stumbles out. You can barely make out the red-and-blue of his suit. His mask is off, he clutches the remnants of it in his bloody fist. It looks like he’s been dragged underneath a vehicle. The space shuttle, maybe.

He limps, his suit filthy and torn. A mix of sweat, blood, and soot coat his face and hair.

But you can see his eyes. Black holes ripping galaxies apart. You feel a rush of relief as you wade through the water towards him.

“Peter!” you sob, unaware of when you started crying.

He spots you, and he might as well have dropped to his knees with tearful praise. “Thank god,” he gasps. He darts to you, sloshing through the water with his limp. As soon as he reaches you, he grabs ahold of you like he’s never going to let you go. You don’t want him to.

His hands expand around the sides of your face like blinders, blocking out horrors that he didn’t want you to see. “You’re bleeding,” he exclaims, studying you carefully.

Blood streaks down the right of your face from a gash at your hairline. It’s not as bad as it looks, but now you’re aware of the pain. You don’t mind it too much. You’re mystified by his freckles. Your thumbs idly come up to wipe away the mud on them, wiping away some of his tears as well.

“Bug, look at me, are you okay?” Peter pleads. He’s still searching your face, unaware of how bad the damage is.

The terror in his throat snaps you from your daze. You nod, salty tears stinging your wounds, as you bury your face in his chest. Your voice shakes. “I thought you were gone—”

He pulls you upright, his hands planted on the sides of your head as he steadies you. “I’m here,” Peter declares. It’s a promise. “I’m gonna get you outta here, alright?”

Your eyes widen, remembering the futility of your situation. You glance around, sparing another look to the chaos around you.

Peter lets go of your cheeks to grip one of your coat sleeves. With a yank, he rips the fabric of the arm at the seam, clean from the shoulder. You watch in a haze, as he rolls the torn sleeve off of your arm, dipping it in the water below.

“Put this to your mouth!” he instructs, handing you the wet fabric. He has to shout over the roar of the water. “It’ll help with the smoke. We’re downwind right now. We gotta get below the flames.”

You know that’s a gross oversimplification of your current predicament. And you want to protest, because what about his lungs? But you follow his orders.

You glance from left to right, as does he. It’s pitch blackness away from the fire and water. You’re pinned between rock and river.

He holds your hand, tight enough to hurt. The shouting has begun to diminish now, which brings you no relief. You realize you can’t hear the baby anymore. You can't stop crying. You wonder what Peter must be feeling, and hope that his senses are still dampened.

“C’mon,” he pulls you closer to the water side. That way leads further underground, but you understand the physics of it. Smoke rises, and the tunnel is acting like a chimney. Choosing to instinctively go back the way you came, to try to dig through the mass of rubble closer to the exit, would mean death by asphyxiation in less than two minutes.

You sludge through the frigid water. It’s waist-deep now, swirling around you. The further you descend the higher it gets. Peter grips you tight. It’s the only thing that keeps you from losing your mind.

“Please help! Somebody help!”

You freeze in your steps and need your whole weight to keep Peter from pulling you along. You search frantically, recognizing that voice.

“Please, somebody help! I’m stuck!”

You see a crumpled taxi tossed on its side, teetering dangerously on a pile of rubble. Water bubbles up around the cab. Chewed fingernails with chipped polish reach out through a small gap, waving frantically.

“Claire,” you breathe, stunned. You watch with wide eyes as the woman you saved earlier that Tuesday flails, trapped in the crushed taxi. The steel cages her in. Black water steadily creeps up around her. “Claire!”

“Help, please, I can’t move! I can’t—!” You hear coughing, gargling.

“Peter, she’s stuck!” You point, and look up at him. The look on his face breaks your heart. He’s overwhelmed. He’s terrified. He looks at you, looks at the cab. He’s being torn apart inside. You’re asking him for too much.

You pull away, “C’mon, help me!” Reluctantly, he moves with you, releasing your hand. He moves faster than you through the water, standing taller in the depths.

You reach the taxi as Claire’s screams become more panicked. The car is beneath boulders of concrete. You attempt to climb up on the cab.

“Stay back!” Peter tells you. “This whole thing’s unstable!” The water is swarming, rising. Boiling, frigid, black death threatening to swallow the cab up.

“Please, please, please,” Claire is babbling. You can barely see her bloodied face between the bars of her cage. “I-I can’t move my legs, please… I can’t—”

Peter works quickly above you to clear the rubble. “Hey, it’s me!” You tell her, your voice bright and placating. “Remember me? It’s okay. We’re here. Spider-Man’s here and we’re gonna get you out—“

Claire’s voice is weak, she’s barely able to speak between giant gasps of air. “Please, don’t—donwanna die… don’t wanna die, please I don’t want—”

You grip her hand tightly in yours. Tears sting your eyes. “Peter!”

“I’m goin’ I’m goin’!” He’s using his whole body to lift and loosen the rubble from the taxi.

The ground beneath you quakes. A rumble. Suddenly, you drop. You fall backwards to the water as the mound that the taxi is teetering on collapses. The taxi drops beneath the waterline.

A web snatches your shoulder, keeping you above water, though the vacuum of air caused by the displacement threatens to drag you under. Peter plucks you from the water, suspending you by the web.

“Be right back,” he huffs, like it’s nothing. He dives back in after the submerged taxi.

You watch him disappear into the blackness, and can’t help but feel overwhelming horror at being left alone. It makes you feel ashamed. After the longest few seconds of your life, he reemerges. A body with sopping corn silk hair flops over his shoulder.

He climbs back up to you and you drop from the web onto the hood of a floating car. The space between you and the ceiling is dramatically lower. You’re barely able to see him through the smoke. He hoists Claire up and lays her on the floating car, and you crawl towards her, putting your face to hers.

Her eyes are wide. Still. You have to be inches from her face to be able to see her terror-stricken look.

“She’s gone,” Peter tells you, his heart breaking a little more as he says it.

You’re leaning over her dead body, seeing her bluish face for the 10,000th time. And you’re shrieking her name. Sobs wracking your body. The whole tunnel vibrates with your howls.

And that song. The notes melting away. The chorus drowns as its pulled under the river.

“C’mon, we gotta go!” Peter pleads. He grabs you by the arm. It’s not a request. He’s getting you out of there. Somehow. “We gotta climb—”

A horrible groan roars above you. You look up to see a piece of the ceiling moving downwards. It’s hurtling towards you, like a giant asteroid. Your extinction is imminent.

Peter pushes you out of the way.

You plunge back into the water, and it feels like a thousand needles pricking your skin. You open your eyes, which was a mistake, because you’re nearly blinded by the chemicals and salt water. You kick for your life. Your shoes feel like bricks, but you kick until you break the surface.

You gasp and choke and sputter. “Peter!” You gag and cough. “Peter!”

You open your eyes and you're still in Hell. Only blurrier. Darker. So quiet. No more babies. No more anyone.

You hear your name again. His voice chirps out. You look up and see the devil in question. The sight of him reels you in like a gravitational pull. You crawl over broken glass and rock and metal until you’re beside him.

Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. Messy crown of brunette hair, sopping wet with saltwater, motor oil, and blood.

He looks at you from the side, deliriously dazed and huffing with exhaustion.

Once he sees your face, he grins wide. Soft. Reminds you of the bright warmth of your bedsheets.

“Sunflower…” he breaths. He sounds dreamy. He sounds exhausted. His smile dims. “You’re bleeding...”

“I’m okay,” you sputter and cough, trembling from the cold and adrenaline. You're higher up now, near the ceiling of the tunnel. You can feel the water creeping up your back. Your eyes scan his face, attempting to see his freckles through the building smoke. You wrap your hands around his face just to know he’s there. “I’m okay, I’m okay... We have to get out of here, baby—Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he nods, but he isn’t moving fast enough. He looks so tired. “Need— n-need explos...ves.” He shutters, the cold piercing him. “C-cop car. Look—look in the trunk. Needa... explosion. Flash grenade. R-road flares...” He grimaces sharply. You can’t take your eyes off the softness of his lips. “Ch-check f-for pressurized can-canister—”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying—”

“Need to create an explosion... at the ho-hole, wh-where the water... C-create a vacuum—”

“There’s nothing, Peter, there’s no cop car, it’s underwater—”

“You need to go,” he states, and you fall silent. You stare at his lips. Blood tints them. You shake your head. Pull at his arms.

Your whole body shakes. Your eyes are hard. “We don’t have time, Pete. We have to get out—c’mon, we have to go—”

Your icy fingers grip at the warmth beneath his chest. They tug at him frantically. You mean to pull him up with just your thumbs if you have to.

“Bug,” he blinks at you. Tears fill in his eyes.

Your hands are warm. Burning hot. You look down. And that’s when you see the spear lodged in his side. A half-inch wide black, twisted piece of rebar piercing his chest. Your mouth falls open at the sight. It’s needled through his ribcage, piercing the back, slicing through his lung in a way that you can physically feel. Phantom pain from past experience.

Peter Parker’s blood coats your palms. You can’t handle this pain. It’s too much.

You look down at him, head shaking furiously. He silently mouths your name, a hopeless apology. You don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

“You ha-have to...go,” he chokes out. There’s more blood spilling from his lips. It’s harder for him to breathe. The water creeps up your shoulders, and threatens to drown you both. He’s going to drown before you, you realize, in his own blood.

“Pl-Please,” he says, voice breaking, “please ge-get out of here. Pl-please g-go.”

You shake your head. You grip his hands like holding onto the edge of a cliff. You hold tight, as if that could keep him with you. As if it could bring you more time.

“Ba-baby, please go... Please just go... Please, pro-promise me... you’ll get out of here...”

He’s fading, you realize, and you want to scream into the void. You want to headbutt the rebar and lodge it through your eye socket. Your chest heaves. You squeeze his hands tightly.

You nod your head. Realize that he doesn’t know what you know. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. There’s no way out of the tunnel. There’s no saving you. Either of you.

You nod. And he relaxes. “Just go... without me,” he pleads. His hard to hear him over the roar. You nod silently, tears roll down your face.

“Mmm—m'sorry... so-so sorry—”

You’re still nodding as he fights to keep his eyes open. You pledge with your gaze. You promise him that you’ll survive. You lie.

The light is gone. In his eyes, and in the tunnel. His grip loosens in your hold. The water crawls up your chin, and your head hits hard rock. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to look away.

The water takes him, but you’re still holding onto his hands.

“It should’ve been me,” you cry. To yourself. Alone. In the dark. Underwater. It's the last thing you get to say.

You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, to see through the murky depth. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway.

It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark.

Your lungs burn. There’s nowhere to go.

It should’ve been you. Not Peter.

Every cell in your body screams at you, telling you it should’ve been you. You open your mouth to scream back. A heart-wrenching yowl. Water fills your mouth and your lungs.

You want to wake up. You want to go home. You want to go back. You want anything but this.

Why aren't you waking up?

Elsewhere, above the Hudson.

A clock turns.

11:59...

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT

Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant

The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…

Showed in your EYEEEES…”

You opened your mouth wide and let the air fill your lungs. You can still feel the heat. You can smell the water. You gaze up at the stark white of your ceiling as giant tears flood your vision.

Tuesday.

Tuesday again.

You laid there. Shook with an odd mix of horror and relief. It was like waking from the most vivid nightmare of your life. Visions and sounds latched onto you like leeches. You cried silently like a child, cradled by your soft pillows and bedding. The only thing that keeps you from screaming out hysterically is the grounding feeling that comes with faith. Unquestionable. Undeniable.

You will die today.

It’s gospel. Inevitable. You’re supposed to die today. Not just you, you know now, through divine revelation. So many others.

Regardless of how you meet your fate, nothing will prevent that horrific weapon from leaving that facility. The truck will drive into the tunnel. It will hit that debris. It will crash. And everyone in the tunnel will die.

Including Peter.

That is how the day ends, should you be alive to see it. That’s how his life ends.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!” a pleasant voice rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of your gory last moments.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair.

The memory of his dead face sliced through you.

You looked away, grimacing. Sat up in bed, tears welling in your eyes.

You know what’s going to happen and you know what you have to do. No matter how painful.

Today is the last day of the end of your life.

“Babe?” he questioned, appraising you with a fading smile. He sensed your distress. He could smell your tears. “What’s the matter? You okay?”

You stared at the blankets for a long while, your weight leaning back on the heels of your palms. You remained still, contemplative. The silence goes on longer than he is comfortable with.

You turned your face toward him, eyes sorrowful.

“I’m breaking up with you, Peter.”

It was quiet at the top of the Empire State Building. That’s why it was his favorite spot. Hair slicked with sweat, cheeks damp with salty streams of tears. Tragically, only sort of drunk. Peter’s mask was discarded beside him, next to an empty 3-liter bottle of McCormack’s.

He took a swig from an identical bottle, nearly empty as well. Sourness set heavily on his tongue and it made him even more bitter. He couldn’t even afford the good stuff.

Fucking loser.

He swallowed down the acid water with disdain and self-contempt.

In his other hand, he toyed with the velvet box he kept hidden in his bedside drawer. Today, of all days.

He was past the shock. Past the denial. Past bargaining. Somewhere between anger and depression. Actually, he was a mix of all of the emotions.

You’d killed him. Crushed him. Murdered him in less than 100 words. A shot straight to the heart, without batting an eye. You were the deadliest assassin he’d ever known. You were savage, the cruelest villain he’d ever faced.

You were his everything. He was the problem.

That’s what you’d told him, swinging the axe down and cutting your ties. He was always gone. He was always late. He was always Peter Parker.

Peter Parker would always be Spider-Man.

And that was the nail in the coffin. That was reason enough. The killing blow.

As stunned as he was, he was almost… relieved. He knew this day would come. He knew you were too good for him, too good to be true, and this was a natural progression of that.

He always knew would lose you. He was grateful that at least he wasn’t standing over your grave this time.

He didn’t know how long he’d been crying. He wasn’t sure what time it was. Time was meaningless.

The buzz of his phone was the first thing that broke him from his pity party. He flinched as he frantically dug for the advice.

Shamefully, he prayed that you were calling him to tell him you changed your mind. Or your conversation this morning was part of an elaborate hoax. The world’s greatest ‘punking.’ Ashton Kutcher springs out of nowhere. He’d happily laugh it off. He’d chuckle like a fool and rush home to scoop you up in his arms. Sick burns and all.

Fingers fumbling, he accepted the call and slapped the phone to the side of his face.

The whimper of his voice was pathetic. Truly. “Bug?”

Fucking loser.

“Peter?” A middle-aged woman’s voice shattered his hopes.

Confused, he pulled the phone away to look at the screen: KIM MANNERS.

Fuck. Your mom had his number. He knew it was a risk, reaching out behind your back. She’d been calling him all week, adding steadily to the pressure of his upcoming proposal. No wonder she drove you crazy. She’s probably wanting details about when he was going to pop the question.

Fuckkkk.

“Peter? Are you there?”

He put the phone back to his ear, and briefly considered throwing his phone off of the Empire State Building.

With a flayed voice, he replied, “Hi, Mrs. Manners.”

“Peter? Where are you? What’s going on?” She sounded like a parrot. A parody of a typical New England voice. “What happened?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckidity—

“Sorry, Mrs. Manners, I-I was gonna call—”

“Peter,” your mother interrupted with a sultry tone. If he wasn’t such an idiot he’d recognize the cougar purr of her voice, “you know I told you to call me Kim.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. Not just from the alcohol. “Ugh, yeah—” He tried not to make it sound like a gag reflex, but it crept out anyway. “Yeasshh, I, uh, sorry, I gotta little tied up—”

Ew! Gross, noo, fuckfuckfuck.

“Now’s not a good—”

“Is my daughter with you?”

FAHHHHHK… She doesn’t know? Of course she wouldn't. She's not subscribed to the 'Watch Peter Parker Get Fucked Again This Week' Newslet—

Ahh! No! Gross! Ew! “Uhm… no, I—”

“Do you know where she is? She’s not answering her phone.”

“I… I-I don’t think she wants to talk right now—”

“I think something weird is going on,” Kim blurted, still oblivious to the fact that Peter had spent the last few hours sobbing on roofs of several New York landmarks.

The concern in her voice pricked the skin on the back of his neck. He stiffened, his spinal column locking in place. Peter shook his head confusedly, “I’m… I’m not sure what you—”

“Peter, listen to me, I know my daughter. I think something is wrong.”

Peter felt faint all of a sudden. “Waddya mean? What’re ya—what’re you sayin’?”

“I think she’s in trouble,” she explained. “She left me a weird message. She can be so moody sometimes. She gets that from her father. I can sense these things, y’know. I’ve always told people I have a sixth sense about this stuff. You know, my grandmother said she could—”

His heart is pounding, threatening to break through his chest. “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean ‘trouble?’ What message? What did she say exactly?”

Silence on the other end of the line. Peter felt like he was going to vomit.

“She said that she loved me, and she was sorry,” Kim finally said, with an exasperated tone. Equal parts embarrassment and concern. “And that she forgave me.” She said the last part with a growing sense of dread.

“And she called me ‘Mom.’”

Peter’s mouth hung open, every cell in his body alerting him. Something was wrong. He pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing down.

He also had a voicemail. From you.

This was the stupidest thing you’d ever done. But damn was it thrilling. You should’ve been a car thief in another life.

“Hey, Peter,” your voicemail recorded a few minutes ago said, “I realize it’s probably hard to listen to this message, but it’s important that I say this, so I need you to listen...”

You’d hotwired the box truck carrying the weapon and detoured away from the tunnel. You stepped on the gas pedal, increasing speed steadily.

Fifteen minutes before, you’d found Dr. Rivers. You told him urgently that his daughter was going to hurt herself, and that you would tell him when and where she could be found, and that information you were going to give freely, because it was the right thing to do. That despite his past absence, his daughter needed him more than ever. They both deserved a second chance.

Everyone did. And that’s why you needed him to tell you how to destroy the weapon safely.

And he did.

“I’m sorry that this is how things need to end. It’s not what either of us had planned, but life is like that. This isn’t your fault. You really need to know that. In fact, I have to thank you.”

Now you were running. Driving a hot wired truck carrying one of the most powerful weapons ever created, stolen from the C.I.A. You pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

“You’ve taught me the meaning of life, how fragile and precious it is. How important. I want you to know that what you do matters. Even when it feels like it doesn’t.”

You glanced in the rear view mirror, seeing a flurry of red and blue light behind you. Sirens wailing. You smirk. You wonder if Officer Cage is among them.

You switched on the radio.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”

Your smile widens. You fucking love this song.

“You have no idea how many lives you touch. Including mine.”

The pier is ahead of you. At the end of it, your watery grave. You were pleased as pie, knowing that at least you were taking this bitch down with you.

You sang along, “Showed in your eyeeeeeeeeeeees—”

The pedal is on the floor. The truck launches off the end of the pier. Curves in an arch. Collides with the water. The windshield crumples in front of you as the frigid water pours in, surrounding you, submerging the truck, sinking the weapon.

You feel so alive. Your heart is pounding. Your body is sizzling with energy, even as you’re dragged into the water.

“Did you know that you have the prettiest fucking smile? I can wake up to that smile 10,000 times, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m so grateful for every second of it. Even the painful parts.”

It’s getting dark. It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. Rising steadily. Coming up to cradle you in its arms as you sink further below. This is how it ends. You’re certain.

You look up out the window, enjoying the rays of sunlight poking down from the surface as they get further away. Your chest is burning, like a flaming sword through your heart. Lungs aching. Ribs threatening to implode. The pressure is unbearable. But you don’t mind. You’re used to the pain.

It’s worth it. Just to say goodbye to the rays of sunlight. To thank them for keeping you warm. For rainbows. Sunsets. Sunflowers and pineapples. For lighting the eyes of the man you love, casting them in a golden hue.

“Live your life. Be better than you were yesterday. And don’t be too hard on yourself, because you can be better tomorrow. Do good things.”

Speak of the devil. A figure torpedos through the surf, descending lower. You see him in the murky haze of the water, the familiar red and blue catching your eye.

Peter’s eyes widen as he recognizes you in the passenger seat. His mask is off. You smile at him. You wave, as water shoves itself down your throat.

“And don’t worry about me. I think everything is gonna work out.”

It’s time to go home, you think. Safe and warm. Where your ancestors await you. You’ll see Nana Manners there. You’ll see your old cats there. Your grandparents. Your parents. Maybe you’ll finally get to meet Gwen. Meet Uncle Ben.

Peter will be there too, one day. You’re certain.

“One way or another... I’ll see you later.”

Peter swims up to the window. He’s scared, but he needn’t be. You can still move your arms, even though they’ve gone heavy. You place your hand on the glass.

“Goodbye, for now. I love you. Forever.”

There’s a message written on your palm. You hope he can read it. Hope he sees it. Takes it to heart. Holds it there. Believes in it as you believed in each other. Forever.

Three simple words.

'SEIZE THE DAY'

The light fades from your eyes.

This is how it ends.

Or so you’d thought.

Round, mellow notes fill the air. Clean, thick strings, weaving together. Vibrating with warmth. Delicately rising, like steam from a hot spring.

Over the hum of a vintage, six-string, acoustic guitar, peppered with banjo plucks, and the crisp ring of a distant electric hardbody, the gentle crooning of John Denver filled your ears.

“He was born in the summer of his 27th year

Coming home to a place he'd never been before

He left yesterday behind him,

You might say he was born again

You might say he found a key for every door...”

Your eyelids creaked open, as dim lights swam in your vision. Your eyelashes fluttered. The ceiling foreign. The room cast in shadow. A machine steadily beeps, off-tempo from the music. Your eyelids are heavy.

Why?

“...When he first came to the mountains his life was far away

On the road and hanging by a song...”

You drew back the curtains of your gaze again, going crosseyed for a moment as they attempted to adjust to the light. You focused on a single, blurry shape, willing it to be still and come into focus.

You squinted, your head aching. Your chest felt sore. Like you’d worn a vise as a bra. Or spent a day as a shake-weight in a gym for giants.

Your vision sharpened. It’s Peter’s eyes—doe-like, dreamy, warm, and so, so tired—that pulls you from your slumber.

He’s so pretty, you thought, and your lip stung from the grin that stretched your face. He sat in a chair at your bedside, dressed in wrinkled clothes that were a little too worn to be clean.

You blinked a few times and really took in the sight of him.

Dark circles colored heavy bags under his eyes. He’s even more pale than usual, you noted. His skin looked dry, like all of the moisture had been squeezed from his body. Through his bleary eyes, you assumed, observing how bloodshot they were.

Peter was worse for wear.

But he was so damn pretty.

Your heart ached at the sight of him. And seeing your eyes illuminate had a similar effect on his. Despite looking utterly exhausted, like he’d been awake for a few millenia, his cheeks pinched up and he could no longer hide his teeth behind his lips.

He smirked at you, then glowed as he drank you in.

Despite this, there was a melancholy in his red-rimmed eyes.

You gazed around at your surroundings. A darkened hospital room. You were in a hospital bed.

You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you.

“Hey, hey, hey, shh, you’re okay,” Peter whispered, leaning forward out of the chair. Instinctively, he reached up and brushed a lock of hair from your face. He shifted his body closer to you, scooting in the chair, like he was magnetically charged to gravitate to you.

“You’re okay,” he cooed. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You’re... you’re gonna be okay.”

You were dead, you recall.

You were sinking, lungs filled with water, brain shutting down.

You glanced over to see an outdated clock radio plugged in on a table nearby, this one with a 30-pin dock meant for a first-generation iPod. You gaze at the retro white device, recognizing the music.

“...But the string’s already broken and he doesn’t really care

It keeps changing fast and it don't last for long...”

You blinked. Your jaw hung open. Tears pricked your eyes.

“This song,” you breathed, and probably sounded crazy. You felt giddy. You felt like laughing and crying and screaming at the top of your lungs. “It’s... it’s not Asia...”

“Uhm, no,” Peter replied. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s John Denver. Sorry. It’s lame. I, uh, I didn’t get a chance to make a playlist, or anything—”

He swallowed hard, his shoulders tense. He looked away from you—to the wall, to the floor, to the space on the pillow next to your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. It looked painful, like a rock is lodged in there.

“Wha-what day is it?” you stuttered, gazing up at him. You’re still trying to decide if you’re dreaming. If this is Heaven.

Peter’s brow quirks suspiciously. “Wednesday,” he replied, and you take pity on the exhaustion in his voice. “You’ve been out for almost 20 hours—”

You laughed. “It’s Wednesday?”

He stared at you, his concern growing. “Y-yeah...?”

You giggled uselessly, relishing in the sensation of hot tears streaking your cheeks. “It’s Wednesday!” Your chuckling grew louder, until your throat trips and you cough. Your lungs feel like paper mache.

“Easy, take it easy,” Peter softly admonished you, as he brushed his hands over your face possessively. He didn’t take them off this time. You don’t want him to. “You need to rest,” he replied. “You... got banged up... pretty bad...”

You gazed at the redness of his eyes, and realized what must have happened. You’re stricken with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” you muttered, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

He shook head, refusing to make eye contact. “S’okay. You’re okay.”

“No, no—”

“You’re alive,” he bit off, a little more firm than he needed to be. “You’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

His thumbs rubbed circles into your jaw. You sensed that he was at war with himself, debating between pulling away from you and stapling himself to you. His fingers gripped you with a compulsive anxiety. A phobia that he would be forced to let you go, and this time, lose you forever.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” You looked up at him like you were staring through pearly gates. Like you could see souls being formed with the stars. “I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean any of it—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated, but the tears welling in his eyes told you the opposite. “None of that matters,” he stammered, still unable to look at you.

He felt so far away. You needed him closer. You needed to be wrapped around him, smothering him like a koala.

You giggled and pulled at his arms, squirming in the hospital bed. The movement made you wince. You felt your pulse in your head.

“Just relax,” he fretted, pinning your shoulders down gently. The weight of his palms felt divine. “You gotta rest, Bug. Doctor’s orders.”

He pinched his face, like he’d bit his tongue. That caught your attention. You stared up at him, noting the discomfort he was failing to hide from you. He hadn’t looked at you yet.

“Bug, listen. There’s—” He winced again. “You were out a while. The-the doctors, they ran some tests, and... um, they... Somethin’ came up on the MRI.”

You study the brown of his eyes. It reminds you of whiskey. Of chocolate. Of mahogany.

He struggled to speak, failing to keep his voice calm. “They, um... They s-said there was, uh, a-a shadow of some kind. On your brain.”

You curved your eyebrow as you focused on his mouth. Simultaneously listening to the words on his lips, and watching how his lower lip quivered. You wanted to kiss it. To steady it with your own. Your fingers ached to pull him in.

You must have been squirming again, because before you knew it, Peter grasped your hands up in his, holding them tightly to his chest. He hovered over you, practically whispering in your ear.

“You were already under,” he quickly explained, the rest of the words tumbling out at once. “The-they did a biopsy. Just a little cut, and-and they said they were going to send the tissue off for a-a lab test. And... and when it comes back, we’ll know more about it, but... but the doctor said, he said it was good, whatever it is. Good that we caught it early. He said—”

Peter’s voice broke, and then his eyes met yours. They welled up with tears. He looked deeply shaken, pulled taut. Like his limbs were made of matchsticks and he would crumble or go up in flames at any moment.

He looked so afraid.

He looks as scared as you should be. Your brain moves like molasses to catch up with the fact that it nearly caused your ultimate demise.

Your mind spun with what-ifs and destiny and alternate universes and higher purpose and you have to stay focused on the chocolate of his eyes because that’s the only thing that mattered to you.

Peter swallowed hard, digging out his voice. “They said that you coulda had an aneurysm any day now. Like, you’re there one minute and just... you’d be gone.”

You gazed up at him, spotting the tremor in his chin again. He bit down, to keep it steady. You wanted to pepper his chin in kisses for the next 100 years, or 100 minutes, or 100 seconds. Whatever you could get.

“I, uhm,” he struggled to continue. “I don’t know what I woulda done if... you... if you’d...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t, you realized.

“Pete,” you softly replied.

He looked up at you, and he’s so beautiful, it hurts.

You gazed lovingly at him and showered him with adoration. Looking at you is too much for him.

His brow creased with sorrow as he buried his face in your joined hands. Shoulders shaking. You felt him sob into your skin, tears soaking your hospital gown.

“It’s okay,” Peter said with a sniffle, for both of you. He pulled himself upright. He was trying so hard to stay strong. “S’gonna be okay. You’re going to be okay. I-I promise, whatever happens. I’m not gonna leave your side. We face it together. I don’t care if I’m not with you, or we’re not together anymore. It’s—-this isn’t about me. I’m there for you. ‘Til the end, okay? I swear to you. It’s going to be okay.”

You watch him like you’re watching a sunrise. Like a rainbow is forming behind him. Sunlight piercing heavy rain clouds. You’re in exactly the right place. Exactly the right moment.

Time is meaningless. Time is priceless. Time is everything.

You cried happy tears. “I know.”

If he asked you to marry him right now, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

You couldn’t help yourself—you ran your fingers through his hair. Across his chin. You wanted to map every freckle with your fingertips. Draw invisible lines in his skin. “I know it will, baby, I know. I believe you.”

His expression softened at your smile. He let himself get lost in it. Letting waves of hope crash over him and pull him along with the tide. His lips curved gently, and he returned it. The muscles in his body relaxed slightly.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you promise him, with no real way of knowing.

No way of predicting the future.

And yet, no doubt.

“Because today is Wednesday,” you explain, heart floating in your chest, swelling with gratitude. “And we have today.”

The End.

A/N: Thank you for riding with me for this story. I hope that it brings you peace and healing and happiness.

Take care of yourselves!

Did you like this story? Please share your thoughts with me via comment, ask, or reblog! Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting fandom and fandom writers!

261 notes · View notes

ladamedusoif · 11 months

Text

Visiting - Chapter Four: Save Me

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's the morning after the night before, as the guests at Evan's Halloween party try to process his (alarmingly strong) cocktails - and Lydia tries to understand what her brain and body are trying to tell her about her feelings towards Ben.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (18+) - from the start.

Content (chapter specific): SMUT (oral sex, f receiving; fingering); Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41, about to turn 42, and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; reference to relationship breakdown.

A/N: This chapter is shorter than usual - originally chapters 3 and 4 were going to be a single chapter but it makes more sense to separate them. Further A/Ns at the end, to avoid spoilers.

I'm not kidding when I say this is straight into smut.

The title of the chapter is inspired by Aimee Mann's song Save Me, which I've thought of as a very Lydia-coded song for a while:

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for being so supportive and screaming along about these Beloved Dorky Idiots.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra

“I know you have another one in you, baby. For me?”

You don’t know how many times you’ve come. All you know is the wet heat pooling between your legs, the throbbing of your clit, and the tongue licking lightly at your soaking folds.

In the distance, there’s a furious sound, repeated over and over.

“I can’t…”

He slips a long, thick finger into you, then another, sending your hips thrusting from the bed. “It’s okay, baby, come on now.”

His voice is so reassuring and calm, as if he wasn’t completely taking you apart for the umpteenth time.

The noise continues, becoming rhythmic and more irritated. Even with this frustrating soundtrack, you can feel yourself becoming more and more aroused.

“That’s it. That’s it, Lyddie.”

At the sound of the nickname you steal a glance downwards. His dark eyes twinkle as he winks at you, and you let out a gasping cry as your body jerks upright and your eyes snap wide open.

Daylight.

Your head is pounding and the sunlight hurts your eyes as you turn, squinting, to look at the time on your sunrise alarm clock.

There’s a needy ache between your legs. You peek down the bed, part of you half-expecting to see him there. It had all been so fucking vivid, so real. You gently put your hand between your legs, immediately feeling a soaking wetness.

As your brain starts to wake up properly, you pause and fall back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was going on in your unconscious mind.

The noise that had provided the rhythmic soundtrack to your somnolent sexual scenario has resumed. You realise with a jolt that it’s the buzzer from your intercom, and leap out of bed.

Ani’s scowling face peers at you through the camera. Their grey morning suit has been replaced by a pair of gym leggings and their enormous tie-dye hoodie, and they’re holding two huge paper bags from McDonald’s.

They’re still wearing the tiny Dracula tinted spectacles.

“I’m so sorry! I’m letting you in now, door’s open!”

You’ve hauled on a pair of lounge pants and a soft, ancient sweatshirt by the time Ani has made their way up the stairs and into your apartment. Your rumination over the meaning of your dream would have to wait, and you push the impossibly strong visual image of those brown eyes looking up at you from between your thighs out of your mind.

“Where the fuck were you? I thought something had happened to you. You weren’t picking up your phone, you weren’t answering the door, and I’m fucking so hungover oh my god.”

“I was asleep. You want some coffee or something? What’s in the bags?”

Ani nods towards your tiny kitchen, and you lead the way. “I don’t normally do this, Lyd, but when I feel this bad the only solution is to eat too much McDonald’s breakfast and then regret it.” They plop the two big bags of food onto your counter. “I couldn’t remember if you were a veggie or not so I ordered two of every McMuffin variation.”

You hug them gratefully. “You’re a star, Ani. My body is screaming for this.”

That’s not the only thing your body was screaming for this morning.

No. Nope. Push it away.

You put on a pot of coffee (there are two coffees with the breakfast order, but you suspect you’ll need much more) and grab some plates and paper towels. Ani unpacks the food, plucking a hash brown out of the bag and eating it as they do so.

“How did you get this, by the way? Surely you aren’t in a fit state to drive?”

Ani shakes their head and swallows a bite of fried potato. “McDelivery. Walked over, ordered it on the way, got it for here. Come on, girl, I need to sit on your sofa and let the carbs heal me.”

You carry the food the short distance to the living area and settle in, handing Ani a spare blanket as you wrap your crocheted granny throw around you. Then you remember last night.

“Where’s Cass?!”

Ani licks a glob of tomato ketchup from their finger. “Had to head back early to the city. We got to hold each other’s hair while throwing up this morning though, it was pretty special.”

You glance down at the egg and cheese McMuffin you’ve unwrapped, deciding to pause before they resume their story.

“She’s really sweet, though. And funny. And so, so fucking hot. That mouth! Jesus Christ. Sorry if that was TMI.”

You shift slightly, feeling yourself heating up, and smile over at your friend. “So you’ll see each other again?”

Ani shrugs, looking a little awkward. “Yeah, I mean…it’s a distance. But - yeah. I’d like to.” They nod to themselves. “Even if it’s just a hooking up thing. For now. We’ll see.”

For a moment you consider telling Ani about your dream. You decide to wait.

They sip from their paper cup of coffee. “You hear anything from Ben?”

Your voice is a little too high, too casual, but in their hungover state Ani doesn’t seem to notice.

“No, don’t think so? Should I have done?”

Ani reaches for another hash brown. “Nah, that’s not what I mean, it’s just cos he’s probably feeling it too this morning, and you were together pretty much all night and all… so I thought maybe he’d messaged you to check in.”

“I haven’t actually looked at my phone yet.” You get off the couch and go to retrieve it from your room.

“No shit, Sherlock. Ignore the ten missed calls from me.”

“Hey, Lydia?”

Ben stands by the back door of Evan’s car, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted as he looks at you. The streetlight above is reflected in his glasses.

“Yes, Detective?”

He smiles and walks up to you. “Let me walk you to the door of the building, okay?” You start walking in step.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s right there.”

“Yeah, I know, but…what if the Zodiac’s around?” He raises his eyebrows over the frame of his glasses and you giggle quietly, still feeling the effects of the Spooky Margs somewhat as you reach the front door of the apartment block and key in your code.

He waits until you’re safely inside and about to close the door.

“Thanks for making sure I got home safe, Detective. Message me to say you got home, okay? And thank you for saving me earlier.”

“Saving you?”

“From the fall? You got me just in time.” He casts his eyes to the ground for a moment before looking up and smiling.

“Any time. Say the word, and I’ve got you. G’night, Lyddie.”

BEN: sdlkhgiudflahlw!jkdh (1.30am)

BEN: what (1.50am)

BEN: so zzzzzzzzz right now sdfdkg 😴 (2.00am)

BEN: I’m so sorry, Lydia! Was trying to message you to say I got in okay and I was so tired and sleepy*. I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing. *tired and drunk on Spooky Margs (8:45am)

BEN: Hope you aren’t feeling too bad this morning (8:55am)

BEN: Me right now (9:00am)

He’s sent you a gif of Cameron Frye in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, tucked up in bed and saying “I’m dying”.

You giggle as you walk back into the living room, holding your phone. It’s a relief that you are able to communicate as normal with the real man, as opposed to whatever fictional avatar your sleeping brain cooked up.

LYDIA: I’m on my way over to borrow your dad’s fancy car!! (I’m not. I’m in no fit state. May never process those Spooky Margs. Welp.)

LYDIA: Dracula just showed up and I don’t know how they haven’t crumbled to dust in direct sunlight.

BEN: *consults Bram Stoker* No, he’s got nothing on that scenario.

LYDIA: They’ve come equipped with McMuffins. Stoker didn’t count on that. Anyway, drink all the water! Have some coffee! But mostly water. 😊

“He’s alive, I’m guessing.” Ani has put back on the tiny dark glasses and is curled up in a corner of the couch.

You hold out your phone with the gif. “Sent me this at 9am. Poor Ben.”

Ani rolls their eyes. “Poor Ben?? He’s not the only one.” They reach for their coffee. “Though I think he must have crossed the line from ‘merry and tired’ into ‘praying for the sweet release of death’ after we dropped you off last night. He was fine when you were there and then he was all quiet and leaning against the window and shit. I think Evan was afraid he was gonna hurl in the back seat of his car.”

“I know you have another one in you, baby. For me?”

The heat surges in you, hangover or no hangover. You push the memory of your dream away again. You’re no Freudian, but you read enough “what does my dream mean” magazine articles as a teenager to know that dreams are often symbolic, not literal.

A sex dream does not mean you want to have sex with someone, for example.

You rationalise it quickly in your brain. It's been a while since you've had the kind of comfortable, safe physical closeness you had with Ben last night. He was obviously on your mind. Makes sense that he might turn up in a random situation in your unconscious.

And it wasn't like you hadn't had the odd, harmless, platonic crush on friends in the past. Right? All good.

Ani looks at their phone and looks over at you. “Evan says hi. Wants to know if you’re okay. Said you were chatting shit about moustaches or something to Poor Hungover Benjamin last night.” They cackle to themselves.

“The fuck? I don’t remember doing that. What does he mean?”

Ani looks up and proceeds to deftly tap out a reply to Evan. The response is immediate. “I have no idea what he’s on about.”

You glare, head thumping. “Just fucking tell me.”

“He says: ‘Just tell her In The Cut, the female gaze, moustaches.’” “What?” And the memories start to clear through the haze. “That’s not…oh FUCK.”

After the lipsync, Ani and Cass had disappeared. You had gratefully moved from the arm of the couch to stretch out at one end. Ben had turned his body to face you from the other end, resting his legs on the sofa.

“Holy shit, are those Halloween socks?”

Having discarded his black lace-ups, the full extent of the pattern became clear: little white ghosts dotted across a black background, interspersed with grinning pumpkins and skeletons.

Ben blushed a little, but wriggled his toes contentedly. “They’re thematic! I like it. I like a good thematic sock.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back into the sofa, still buzzed from the cocktails. “I am pretty sure those aren’t canonical for the costume, cute and all as they are.”

He pulled an “I am so affronted” face, feigning total indignation. “You don’t know. Maybe you just haven’t watched Zodiac closely enough, Lyddie.”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I’ll just have to watch it again, won’t I? ‘M gonna check the director’s cut and everything.”

He couldn’t sustain the playacting and chuckled, deep and warm. “Should actually watch that movie again. ‘S so fucking good.”

You nodded along, eyes closed and humming in agreement. “Mmmhmm. Though, let’s be real,” you said, shifting yourself forward slightly, “the best cop Ruffalo? In The Cut.” You sat back against the sofa again. “So, so hot.”

Ben exhaled in agreement. “So hot. Whew.”

It was at this point that, in hindsight, your mouth was in gear before your brain was properly engaged.

“‘S like, perfect example of the erotic female gaze, right? But also about the vulnerability of the women?”

You always did struggle to stop talking when you were off on one about cinema. Or books. Or art. Or specific episodes of 30 Rock. Or anything you were passionate about.

Throw in a couple of Spooky Margs, and your mouth was going to run and run.

You raised an eyebrow and looked dreamily into the middle distance.

“And then there’s the ’tache.” You sighed. “Swear to god, that movie gave me a ‘dodgy cop with moustache’ thing. Whewww, he could get it. So hot. And kind of a form of feminist praxis.”

“Hot praxis,” Ben echoed.

Other than that, his only response was to distractedly start running a finger over the hair on his upper lip, a pensive look on his face, as if he was pondering a very deep question.

You hadn’t realised Evan and David were watching and listening attentively from an armchair, a couple of feet away.

You sit with your head in your hands as Ani pats you on the back with one hand, another McMuffin in their other.

“I honestly don’t know why you’re so stressed about this. It’s not like you said ‘y’know what Benjamin, I love your moustache and you could get it’. You were specifically referring to a movie and an actor. You weren’t even saying ‘I like all fictional moustachioed cops.’”

You moan into your hand as the cringe and hungover paranoia threaten to break you.

“It’s just so mortifying. First I nearly fall on the goddamn floor, then I start talking shit at him about cops with moustaches and hot feminist praxis and - why am I fucking like this?”

Ani chews thoughtfully. “Why are any of us like this?” They sip their (second) cup of coffee. “He’s not wrong, though, it would be hot praxis.”

It would probably feel less embarrassing if you hadn’t woken up thinking about…that. The sensation. The feeling of his (imaginary) mouth on you. The look in his (imaginary) eyes. The smile.

You pick up your phone and grimace. “Should I message him and explain?”

Ani looks horrified. “And explain what, exactly? I’m sorry I told you I thought Mark Ruffalo was hot with a moustache in In The Cut, and I’m worried you think I’m weird because you also have a moustache and I wasn’t being weird? Jesus, Lyd, be real.” They pause, and ask quietly: “You weren’t, like, actually trying to…suggest…?”

Their meaning hits you and your jaw drops. “No, I obviously wasn’t suggesting anything!”

‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’, pipes up your inner Queen Gertrude.

Ani helps you clean up and then heads back home for a long bath. Cass has been sending them messages all morning, and Ani’s little smile each time they get one makes you very happy indeed.

Not too far from your place, Evan and David are doing a final tidy up while their last few guests get ready to go for brunch.

“Is it wrong that I feel smug about not being hungover?” Evan asks, putting away the bottles of tequila and crème de menthe.

David chuckles, stacking plates in the dishwasher. “I hope the others aren’t too sick, though.” He closes the door of the appliance and sets the cycle going. “I meant to say, I didn’t know Barrow was so strict about discretion and staff relationships.”

Evan turns to look at him, expression confused, running a hand through his bright blue locks. “Discretion? Are you talking about us, or…?”

“No, I mean - I only realised after the fact that they didn’t go home together, and I wondered if that was some weird rule.” He closes his eyes and tries to recall names. “The scientist and the detective… Lydia and Ben?”

Evan pauses and then doubles over, laughing. “Oh, babe, no. They’re not together.” He continues wiping down the countertop. “They’re just close, he was the first person she met here, they’re total nerds together, they can get the nerding out without disrupting the rest of us, it’s just a whole vibe.” He motions with his hand, as if brushing the notion away.

David continues to look at him, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe. I guess everyone’s got friendships like that, huh. It was just…” He inhales. “There was just something. But then maybe I’m overthinking it.”

Evan nods, patting David’s arm. “I think you might be. Just because we're coupled up doesn’t mean everyone else is - or wants to be.”

David smiles and reaches for Evan’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Oh, so it’s ‘coupled up now’? Not just a ‘thing’?”

Evan plants a soft kiss on David’s mouth, and grins, before returning to the clean-up operation. David looks pensive.

“I don’t want to be crude about your colleagues, but - are you absolutely sure they aren’t even fucking?”

“Ex-cuse me?” Evan wheels around, horrified. “Yes, I am sure. Babe, if that was happening I would fucking know.”

Your Sunday plans primarily involve putting on some laundry, and then napping in front of a comfort movie, accompanied by a huge bottle of water and strong, hot, sweet tea served in your biggest mug. And some cookies, of course.

“I’m allowed, I’m hungover,” you say out loud, to no one in particular.

By late afternoon, the laundry is done and haphazardly folded - anything neater was too taxing for your hungover brain to process. Wrapped up in your crochet blanket, you are starting to doze off in front of The Muppets when you notice your phone light up.

BEN: Was ‘Hurdy-Gurdy Man’ always this sinister or is it just because of this movie?

He’s included a photograph of what you presume is his TV, and you recognise one of the early scenes in Zodiac.

LYDIA: I’m gonna go with both? But I definitely didn’t associate it with serial killing before the film. Thanks Fincher!

Later, another picture: this time, Mark Ruffalo as Dave Tosche, complete with shoulder holsters.

BEN: Who the hell is this guy??

LYDIA: A really bad impersonator.

BEN: His hair is a lot better than mine though.

You pause as you consider your reply.

LYDIA: Hmmm

BEN: Hmmm?

LYDIA: It’s…of its time. A little heavy for my liking. Don’t sell yourself short.

BEN:

LYDIA: Whoa. Uncanny.

The little dots indicating that Ben is composing a message flash intermittently. Eventually, you think he’s decided not to reply, and snuggle back into your blanket.

The screen lights again.

BEN: Maybe you're right about not selling myself too short.

BEN: I mean, he doesn’t even have a moustache. 😉

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: I don't think there's a need for as many explanations or annotations on this chapter, but for reasons, I should probably provide some evidence of what Lydia's thinking of when she refers to the morally-dodgy, moustachioed cop (Det. Giovanni Malloy) played by Mark Ruffalo in Jane Campion's In The Cut (2003).

(What do you mean, I think you have a type?)

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #professor!ben x ofc #pedro pascal character fanfic #professor!ben #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #Spotify

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